


Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Power Trip

by Talgoran



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 266,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talgoran/pseuds/Talgoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The balance of elements is upset. Amid a violent thunderstorm, a human finds himself transformed into a Squirtle. With the help of a journeying Cyndaquil, he chooses to take balance into his own claws in a new world of uncertainty and danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bolt

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This will be the only note you see in this work. Due to issues encountered when uploading this story to Archive of our Own, the entire text is devoid of italics. This is very problematic, as italics were used for speech emphasis, denoting internal monologue, and a few other moments later on. I wouldn't say the story is unreadable by any means, but certainly a LOT of value and readability was lost. There may be other formatting problems I haven't noticed, too.  
> Unfortunately, remedying this issue would seem to require me manually italicizing every italicized word in the story using Archive of our Own's web interface. Which I'm not going to do. Not to suggest you should read this story elsewhere, but...I'll just say that the story's formatting is much better in other places on the web. Sorry this happened. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy Power Trip wherever you read it!

Beneath canopies of leaf and storm cloud, a Cyndaquil scurried along a worn forest path. He was alone.

Another old tree was struck by a bolt of lightning just off the forest trail. Two Taillow and a Pidgey tumbled down from the branches. Their wings twitched from the electric current, and they made small noises in their throats. A Pidgeotto flew out of the same tree with a squawk of surprise and jerky wing flaps.

The Cyndaquil scampered along the middle of the path. Due to the commotion and panic, he no longer knew how close he was to the wood's edge. Not too far, at any rate. Surely just a minute or two further. Karprest was close, so tantalizingly close after days on the road. He just had to endure the insanity of this forest and he'd finally be there.

A bend in the path. Ten steps ahead and off to the side, two Patrat were standing bolt upright by a tunnel beneath a surface root, heads rapidly swiveling to take in the forest's chaotic state. A third Patrat emerged from the tunnel as the Cyndaquil watched. One of them spotted him. Its tail-tip twitched, and the other two immediately pierced the Cyndaquil with their gazes.

“Oh no, oh no. No, no, no,” the Cyndaquil squeaked as his steps slowed. Another lightning bolt struck nearby but out of sight, throwing a flash of shadows upon the scene. All four Pokémon started as a blast of thunder followed. Then the Patrat dashed at the Cyndaquil.

He gasped in a loud breath and continued along the path as fast as his four limbs would move. The first Patrat aimed an intercepting tackle, so the Cyndaquil planted his forelimbs and skidded to a messy stop. The Patrat grunted for the expected impact as it hurtled off the path and into a leafy bush.

The Cyndaquil started forward again, eying a thick tree root that draped over the path. The two pursuing Patrat weren't four steps behind. Their quick breathing sounded born of fear, not anger. The unnatural storm was the source of not only their fear, but of all the pandemonium in the forest. Where did the thick storm clouds come from? No way they could have formed so quickly, but the Cyndaquil had seen them with his own eyes. The clear blue skies had been transformed within half an hour. And why was there no rain? A thunderstorm without rain was like a Farfetch'd without its stalk.

He ran to the root, pressed his forelimbs and legs against the textured bark, and launched himself up, hoping the Patrat would be unable to stop themselves from running right underneath him. He smiled triumphantly, soaring five feet above the dirt, as he heard their dismayed growls. Then a furry head slammed into his belly. All of the Cyndaquil's balance and orientation was lost as he whirled through the air.

His back crashed into a tree, and he fell to the ground. Immediately, the Cyndaquil scrambled to his feet, located the path, and began to run to it. The Patrat's hit was a good one, but the Cyndaquil wasn't a baby anymore. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. The two Patrat were there, just past the thick root, but it seemed like they may not be chasing him anymore. Their aggressive instincts would dwindle once he left the vicinity of their home. The Cyndaquil would have sighed in relief if he wasn't panting. He was on this journey to become stronger, in part, but being attacked was just so unnerving. Why couldn't Pokémon become stronger by, say, thinking ferocious thoughts? Life wouldn't have to be so demanding. He wouldn't have to be on this stupid path in the first place.

Focusing his attention ahead once more, the Cyndaquil spotted a Caterpie crawling frantically back and forth on a tree branch above the path, raising its head and swinging it around every now and then anxiously. Another lightning bolt, another roar of thunder. As if on cue, a pair of Rattata darted into view far ahead, apparently seeking cover from the rainless thunderstorm. The Rattata ran along the dirt path toward him, just as the Caterpie noticed him and gurgled a wild cry of attack.

The Cyndaquil groaned.

Off the path to his left, there was a clearing in the trees filled with tall grasses. Maybe he could lose them there. He veered off the path and ran headfirst into the grasses, hoping that he could make it out of the forest in one piece.

* * *

Grass blades meeting in a breeze. That tranquil sound was the first he heard. The sound came and went, like the breeze that delivered it. Judging by the origin of the sound, he was nearly surrounded by grasses rising high above him. All brushing against one another in the breeze. Although, the breeze sounded more like gusts of wind. Felt like them too. So he opened his eyes.

Yes, he was correct. Grass on all sides. The wild kind that grew where other plants did not. The grass was, on the whole, a healthy pale green. Rainfall must be common in this area. And it was so tall. It was the tallest grass he'd ever seen. There were trees, too. Tall, tall trees. The treetops rivaled the sky's gray clouds in their height. Why was everything so big around here? Or maybe...he was just small? Hm.

The world seemed distant to him. Like he was free to observe it at his leisure, and nothing would befall him. But he caught the feeling beginning to fade, just as he first became aware of it. He was in a forest, of course. The trees and other vegetation had clued him in. The sky was thick with dark clouds. A bolt of lightning flashed far away. A couple of breaths later, its sound rolled over him, borne on a gust of the storm's wind. The forest was dim from the clouds, but still well lit, meaning it must be daytime. 

His body, still feeling rather distant from his awareness, felt like it was slumped on the ground in a sitting position. With a bit of effort, he rolled his head back, struck it softly against bark. He was propped up against a tree, as if the hand of some gentle giant had placed him there to rest. High above, broad green leaves shook in the wind on the tree's branches. They would protect him from the storm's rain. He peered over the grasses' tips and away from his tree's protection. But he could make out no curtain of rain. Strange, that.

What was he doing here, anyway? That feeling of detachment was quickly vanishing. Why was he alone in a forest filled with humongous plants? He leaned forward to get to his feet. His body felt alien to him as he did so. More compact, less lanky. And his center of gravity was off. He almost fell down, but caught himself with a well-placed foot. The dirt felt slightly moist, and cool. So he must be barefoot. He glanced down.

On the ground where his foot should have been was a strange appendage. It had taut blue skin, three splayed toes tipped with short claws, and vanished above the knee into a shell covered in the front with tan scutes. He stared at it. Bits of loose dirt peeked out between the toes. Then he recoiled in surprise, because the foreign leg was where his leg should have been. The short blue leg followed. He half-hopped, half-fell backward, trying to escape. His fall ended earlier than he expected as he collided with the tree, and his back made a sound that wasn't a THUD, but a TOK, a sound similar to two small stones being clanked together.

“Agh! What is this? Why is my leg a Squirtle leg? My chest is...” He patted his chest, felt warm and smooth scutes underneath his hands. “It's a shell!” Then he looked at his hands. They resembled his feet; his hands, too, had three short digits ending in pointy claws. “My hands...they're...what's happened to me?”

Turning his head, he studied what he could see of his back, now a smooth shell composed of large brown scutes. But then his eyes noticed something behind him that was blue like his skin and just above ground level. Was that...? He focused, tried to sense every inch of his body. And tensed some new muscles. The blue limb twitched. It was a tail.

He screamed. The new body was too much. His arms and legs were stubby and his torso was hard as a rock. Worse, he had claws. Claws. And five limbs. He was discovering new and distasteful sensations by the second. Why was he a Squirtle? How was he a Squirtle? Where was he? His screams were mostly contained by the waving grasses around him that grew to be twice his height. They echoed back upon him, encouraging the pounding within his skull and his racing heart. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to sort out the disturbing messages of his new body. 

A new sound reached him. Not booming thunder, wind through grass, or the tapping of his shell. It was coming from beyond the grasses' edge, and it was coming fast. A harsh rustling, the sound of grass being roughly parted or broken as someone or something rushed through it. Any second the source of the noise would burst into his bubble, the area clear of grass at the base of his tree.

His body tensed, seemed to want to get low to the ground. Get on all fours, get stable. Preposterous, he thought, and pivoted his strange body toward the sound. And promptly fell onto his back. Due to his shell, his weight just wasn't where he thought it would be. Turning quickly threw too much weight outward, toppling him. He rocked back and forth on his back, flailing his extremities to right himself. But the chaotic movement did nothing but stabilize his position just where he didn't want to be. Despite his predicament, he couldn't help but smile wryly.

I'd always heard of Squirtle getting stuck on their backs, especially younger ones, he thought, but I didn't believe it really happened until now.

The grasses shook and bent. A Pokémon the same size as him shot out of the grass and right into the Squirtle. It caught his outstretched leg and spun him around like a top.

“Waaaah!” he cried as the world revolved around him.

The newcomer gave a cry of its own as it tumbled into the tree-trunk and fell onto its side. It looked like a Cyndaquil.

“Urgh...I've had enough of trees for a lifetime.” It spoke in a quiet male voice. Yet the voice was animated, and emphatic, in spite of its softness.

Once the Cyndaquil had recovered, he quickly reached out his forelimbs to stop the Squirtle's spin, and pulled him to his feet.

“Sorry, sorry! I didn't think there was anyone here, and I've been running, so I wasn't looking, and...” he tilted his head. “Hey...you're a Squirtle. Which means you're not from around here. I haven't seen any ponds or lakes nearby. So...you've got to be a traveler, like me!”

The crinkles that were his eyes crinkled even further, and the spiky flames on his back flared incrementally larger for a moment. It was hard to tell with certainty because of the Cyndaquil's long snout, but the Squirtle guessed that he was smiling.

But far more importantly, the Cyndaquil was talking. It wasn't squeaking, growling, or hissing. It was speaking intelligently. All the Squirtle could do was stare, eyes wide, at this anomaly. A talking Cyndaquil? It was unheard of.

“You don't look well, Squirtle.” His voice was concerned, now. “What's wrong? Oh, did you get in a tough battle with the Pokémon here? You don't look beaten up...”

“You,” he began, then cleared his throat and began again. “You're a talking Cyndaquil. You're speaking! That's incredible!”

In response, the Cyndaquil dropped to all fours and headbutted the Squirtle lightly. He stumbled back a couple of steps, but managed to stay balanced for once. “Hey, stop!” Why did the Cyndaquil do that?

“Come on, snap out of it.” The Cyndaquil was striding forward, apparently trying to give him another shove. “Never heard of a Confused Pokémon talking nonsense, but I don't know much about Confusion to begin with.”

The Squirtle danced away, beginning to get a feel for his balance and weight. “Stop, stop! I'm not Confused, I'm just surprised!”

He stopped. “Why would you be surprised? Everyone...” He froze. No part of him moved except the silent flames on his back. His head turned away. Had he heard something?

A flash of lightning broke the Cyndaquil out of his reverie. His voice was even quieter than before. “We need to get out of here. I think those two Rattata are coming, maybe others.” He turned his head around, looking at the waving grasses and thick tree-trunk that surrounded them. “Do you know the way out of the forest, Squirtle?”

“No,” he answered slowly. He couldn't hear anything. Nothing was amiss. “I don't even know-”

“No time!” hissed the Cyndaquil. “I'm sorry, but we have to go now. Trust me!” He bounded on all fours to the edge of the grass.

The Squirtle stood by the tree, uncertainly. Was he being tricked? Manipulated, for some purpose? He could neither hear nor see any other Pokémon coming. Granted, he wasn't used to the senses of a Squirtle, and maybe the Cyndaquil had sharper hearing, but the situation seemed set up. Convenient that the Cyndaquil had bumped into him, then immediately asked him to come along to who knows where. The odds that the Cyndaquil had fortuitously stumbled upon him just in time to lead him away from some danger were ludicrously low.

Logically, too, the Cyndaquil's actions did not make sense. The Cyndaquil had nothing obvious to gain from the Squirtle's company. He'd just proven to the Cyndaquil how “Confused” he was, how unaware of what was normal and what was unnatural. Why should the Cyndaquil risk his own welfare to protect some baggage like him?

“Aren't you coming? It's dangerous here.” The Cyndaquil looked back with one forelimb raised and ready to step into the tall grass. Reading the Cyndaquil's facial expression was like trying to make sense of a cloud formation. It could be anything. His eyes, if they were even open, were hidden behind wrinkles of fine fur, and reading into the snout and mouth position was completely foreign to the Squirtle. What were his intentions? Did he mean well? Was he showing kindness, and for a total stranger? Or were his intentions malevolent, but hidden behind an innocent facade? There was no time to sit back and reason out the solution. No time to decide what to believe. But...

“Yes. Yes, I'm coming.” Given the circumstances, the Squirtle thought it best to follow the Cyndaquil. Better to travel with someone who had a chance of being genuine than to fend for himself in the middle of an unknown forest. Something else pushed him to say yes, too. His gut instinct, or perhaps the body he was inhabiting. It wanted to go with the Cyndaquil. This gut feeling was certainly something he should not become accustomed to trusting, but it was alright in this case. He had nothing else to go on.

The Squirtle tried to jog forward on his two new legs, but ended up almost waddling instead. Movement was going to be awkward for a while. Side by side with the Cyndaquil, he prepared to push through the grasses. The vegetation was so thick that he could barely see five arm-lengths into it.

His companion took a deep breath and muttered, “We can do this.”

The Squirtle was unsure whether or not the Cyndaquil was addressing him, or just steeling himself. He replied, just in case. “Right, no problem.”

Together, the Squirtle and Cyndaquil stepped forward.

* * *

The two Pokémon pushed through the brush. In seconds, they could see nothing but grass every which way. Like swimming in cloudy water, any direction was as good as the other. Initially, the Squirtle stayed close to the Cyndaquil, allowing his companion a slight lead. But he fell behind quickly. His steps were small, like his new legs, and he still felt uncoordinated. The Cyndaquil seemed to take the Squirtle's falling behind to mean that he should lead, and took on the brunt of the trail-blazing without complaint.

The only sounds the pair made were from their bodies brushing past the sturdy grass. The Squirtle was surprised to realize he had not begun panting. Yet this was hard work. He used his arms to push past the grass on either side of him, and his legs to step around or push through the tall blades that were in his way. He was exerting himself, no doubt. But his body was barely more tired than when the two had first started out. The Squirtle did not relish the physical challenge of pushing through the brush. He merely found his new body's energy to be interesting. Were all Pokémon this strong? Maybe he was an exceptionally fit Squirtle. Then again, the Cyndaquil did not seem to be tiring either.

Deprived of sights and sounds besides the grass, the Squirtle's thoughts turned inward. So many questions had been forming in his mind. And some over-arching worry nagged at him like an itchy patch of skin. No time for thinking though. Remaining focused on the here and now was essential to staying safe. The Squirtle did his best to store the questions away in his mind for later.

This time, the Squirtle heard the Rattata, if that is what they were. Loud rustlings in the grass, coming from somewhere behind them. The Squirtle and Cyndaquil's passage was far from silent, which would give away their location to any Pokémon in the vicinity.

“I hope we'll end up closer to the edge of the forest, and not deeper in it,” the Cyndaquil muttered as he quickened his pace. The relative dimness of the tall grass lessened as the grass thinned out. They were leaving the grass cover. But they had to keep moving, or whatever was chasing them would catch up in a matter of seconds.

With an accompanying blast of thunder, they were out of the grass. The winds were stronger here. The Squirtle could only imagine what the storm's force would be like outside of the shelter of the forest. Although storm winds swept through the forest, the Squirtle was correct in his earlier observation: no rain fell. Tall trees bearing broad leaves grew in plenty, but even their cover would not be able to block out all rainfall. The air did not feel or smell moist, either. It could not be raining, not without that damp in the air. The Squirtle knew next to nothing about this forest or the local weather patterns, but surely a violent thunderstorm that completely lacked any rain was remarkably strange. Especially considering the region ordinarily saw frequent rainfall, as evidenced by the flourishing plant life. He resolved to ask the Cyndaquil about it.

“What luck! There's the path!” The Cyndaquil said in his softly energetic voice. He raised his forelimb and pointed to a dirt path that meandered around trees, bushes, and slopes. Surface roots from the older and larger trees lay across the path at a few points, as if the trees themselves were raising their arms to protect the delicate path from harm. The pair headed towards it.

A Butterfree fluttered into view up ahead just as two Rattata emerged from the brush behind them. The Squirtle spun around, once again feeling a bodily urge to drop to all fours and do something about the Rattata. But he stood on his two legs and quickly sized up the Rattata. Their bright red eyes contrasted sharply with the purple of their fur. Each one's tail was rigid and upright, and each looked hyper-alert. They were frightened, and agitated, at least as much as the Squirtle.

One of them shouted to the Cyndaquil and Squirtle in a high-pitched squeak, “Get out, get out!” Then the two Rattata started toward them, aggressively.

“What do we do, what do we do?!” whispered the Squirtle frantically at the same time that the Cyndaquil cried, “Run, let's go!”

The pair fled from the Rattata, and were soon hurrying along the path. Questions burst into the Squirtle's mind one after the other, in rapid succession. Why are the Pokémon attacking us? Can't we just talk to them? What if they catch me? How do I protect myself? Can I fight? Can you fight? But there was no time to talk, no time to even think about anything other than running.

The first tree root covering the path was not an issue. The Cyndaquil leaped it one bound. The Squirtle swung his legs over on the right while pressing against it with his left hand. A sloppy maneuver, but his coordination was improving. He heard no claws scraping against bark behind him, so the Rattata must have jumped it easily. They were evidently pursuing though. The sound of fast breathing was gaining. The Squirtle's speed was no match for that of either the Rattata or the Cyndaquil. Why were they chasing the Squirtle and Cyndaquil; what had they done? How long would they chase?

Meanwhile, the Butterfree had taken to flapping up above them, over the path, and traveling the same direction. The path was clear of trees, so the air was likewise empty for the Butterfree to fly through. Every few seconds, a gust of wind would roll through the forest. The Butterfree's wing-beats were forceful and irregular as it tried to adapt to the wild winds. It glanced down, and appeared to first notice the commotion and chase happening only ten feet below it. Its course abruptly changed and it veered away. But as it did so, the Butterfree gave a shrill cry and its whole body shuddered. A dense cloud of yellow-green powder poured out of its body from near the base of the wings. The wind quickly scattered the cloud into a descending blanket.

“Run, just run!” the Cyndaquil shouted. The Squirtle ran. He heard the two Rattata squeak, and chanced a glance back. The Rattata were off the path, running for the cover of the nearest tree's branches as the powder descended. Again, the Squirtle marveled at how large the trees were from his new perspective.

The next root was an especially thick one, and neither would be able to circumvent it before the powder landed. The Cyndaquil jumped and swiftly scrambled over the root and out of sight. The Squirtle, breathing hard now from the chase, gathered his strength and leaped. Surprising himself, he managed to land all four limbs most of the way up the root. The recoil from the impact threatened to make him fall backward, so before he knew consciously what he was doing, he had curled his fingers and toes to dig his short claws into the bark for purchase. And froze. How very bestial that was. Digging his claws in like that. Only a Pokémon would even think of doing that.

He hung there for a couple of seconds, his face surprised with a hint of disgust. He wasn't a Pokémon! The action felt natural, and the claws worked very well. But thinking about it made him feel profane, like he'd said something taboo in front of a crowd.

“Squirtle!” he heard the Cyndaquil call from beyond the thick root. He glanced up. The colorful powder had arrived. This root marked the edge of the blanket, where the powder thinned away into nothing, but even so there was no escape from it. With one last effort, the Squirtle scrambled over the root and landed roughly on the dirt path. He could feel little particles settling on his skin and shell as he did so. Once he was safely on the ground, the Squirtle examined his arms and legs. The yellow-green powder was fading as he watched. He peered closely. No, not fading. The dots of color were being absorbed. He tried to brush them off, but the powder was already strongly adhered to him. In a moment it had all been absorbed by his skin and shell.

“I don't know what that was, but only a little bit landed on you, Squirtle. Let's go, the exit is right there!” The Cyndaquil pointed his forelimb along the path. Sure enough, the path led to an opening in the trees. Beyond that point, it seemed brighter and more spacious.

“Are you okay to move? Not feeling strange?”

“I'm alright,” he said, but knew right after that he was not. “Wait.” A tingling, as of electric current, was spreading swiftly through his body. His leg felt rigid as he tried to step forward with the Cyndaquil. The muscles were tight, almost locked. He could not move! Abruptly he was aware of his heartbeat as panic began to set in.

“Uh-oh. That Butterfree must have released...what do you call it? My mother mentioned it once. They're spores, or something like that.”

“How do you...stop it?” the Squirtle grated out as even his jaw tightened slightly.

“Oh!” The Cyndaquil rose up on his legs and studied the nearby bushes. “These red berries, Cheri Berries, they've got something in them that reverses Paralysis. But...I can't see any. Krow's luck. None growing around here. Sorry, Squirtle.”

The Squirtle couldn't help but wonder why the Cyndaquil, whom he had just met, was sticking around for him when safety was finally within reach. “Thanks, but never mind. How long does it last?” he said. With great physical effort, he could walk slowly forward. He could not have managed a more unnatural stride even if he had tried before the powder had struck.

“I'm not sure. I was Paralyzed once; this Mareep was drinking from the stream near...” he stopped himself. “Sorry. What I mean is it never lasts long - maybe a minute? A minute and a half?” Something behind the Squirtle caught his attention, but the Squirtle could not easily turn his head to see.

“What is it?” the Squirtle asked.

“That Paras has the wild in its eyes. It'll attack for sure. Urgh, fantastic.” He was silent for a second. The Squirtle could not decipher his expression. “We have to go. But...but you're Paralyzed!” He groaned quietly.

Now the Squirtle felt embarrassed. This Cyndaquil was too much. Why was his companion showing such consideration for him? He'd done nothing but slow them down. He was worse than helpful. So he wasn't about to let the Cyndaquil fall in harm's way if he could help it.

“Go, just go. Don't wait for me. I'll...I'll catch up.” The unpleasant tingling was lessening by the second, in fact, but he felt he would not be able to move at his previous pace for a good minute.

“What, no! We've almost made it out. I'm not going to just...just leave you here, okay?” He hesitated, searching for words. “I'm not good at motivating, riling Pokémon up – any of that. But...well, we're getting you out of here, alright?”

The Squirtle wasn't sure what to say to that. He was afraid to say “Thank you,” because that would be accepting the Cyndaquil's offer. And allowing the Cyndaquil to remain in this dangerous forest for him was embarrassing. The thought made him feel guilty. So he said nothing, and focused on fighting his unruly body. His gait was becoming smoother, less twitchy.

“No!” the Cyndaquil yelped. “Here it comes!”

Desperately, the Squirtle said, “Can't you breathe fire, or shoot it from your back? You're on fire after all!”

“Erm...yes, I can. I mean, probably. But...not here.” He backed up on all fours next to the struggling Squirtle, presumably facing the Paras.

As hope seemed lost, the effects of the Paralysis rapidly began to diminish. With a spasm, the Squirtle regained almost full control of his muscles. Recalling what the Cyndaquil had said, he attributed the short duration to the low amount of exposure he had received.

“Okay!” he said triumphantly, and pushed onward. The Cyndaquil spun back to face the exit and ran along beside him.

The Squirtle could vaguely tell that yet again, a Pokémon was giving chase, but only for a few seconds. Compared to his Paralyzed state, he felt like the wind. In no time, the Cyndaquil and Squirtle were leaving the forest. They scrambled over one more root as another thunderclap sounded, continued past a frightened and distracted Ledyba, breezed by the last few trees at the forest's edge, and left the forest behind.

The Cyndaquil and the Squirtle slowed their flight and finally stopped. Standing still at last, they caught their breath. Squirtle checked behind them. No Pokémon were in pursuit. They were safe. Facing away from the forest, he observed the scenery.

“Wow,” the Cyndaquil remarked. “Beautiful! Isn't it?”


	2. History

Green rolling hills, all around, greeted the Squirtle's eyes. Some of the hills' greenery gave way to rocky cliff faces, others' grassy coats were intact. Here and there small copses or even individual trees stood proudly on the slopes. Though the land for miles around rippled and rolled, there was a steady downward slope on the whole, toward a thick blue river. The path upon which the two Pokémon stood snaked down through the hills, and the Squirtle spotted a couple of footpath offshoots from the main one leading into the distance. An hour or two of walking away from the forest's edge, the main path seemed to end by the river. Or at least the Squirtle guessed it did, as making out detail past the river was difficult in the stormy haze. The river must have been a half mile wide. But where the path met the river, there was a smattering of roofed structures all grouped up, with a clearing or plaza in the center. A small settlement, or town maybe?

A drawn-out, almost lethargic boom of thunder fell upon the pair, though rain was still completely absent. The clouds above had lost some of their menacing darkness, but a glimpse of the sun was not going to happen any time soon. In fact, the day seemed a bit darker. The day was marching toward night even though there was no sun to report it. It must have been noon or early afternoon when the Squirtle first woke under the massive tree. As he had surmised earlier, the winds were powerful out here. What were sudden gusts in the forest were now sound-erasing blasts that punctuated a steady breeze. The wind changed directions often, but it carried no wet after-rain smell.

“Do you want to head to some cover?” The Cyndaquil faced him, and once again the Squirtle experienced the helplessness of trying to read body language and facial expressions that were absolutely foreign to him. “Resting someplace safe and quiet for a while would be really nice, wouldn't it?” The Cyndaquil planted his feet wide apart to brace against the wind.

The Squirtle nodded. He was reliant on the Cyndaquil, he realized, as they walked toward the obvious choice for shelter: a natural mound of earth with a cave-like hollow protruding into it. The view of the countryside rung no bells for the Squirtle. There was no recognition. He did not have the slightest idea of where he was, and was only just getting some time to think. And by now the Cyndaquil had proven that at the very least he meant the Squirtle no physical harm. He could have left him when the Paralysis kicked in, easily.

The cave was cozy. A few feet deep, which was more than enough room, since the Squirtle estimated his height at a foot and a half. The roof of the hollow was rough and rocky, but the floor was worn smooth. The Squirtle judged that he and his companion were not the first Pokémon to rest here. The Cyndaquil plopped himself down against the hollow's wall, and curled up without further ado. His eyelids would probably have closed, if they weren't already. Were they? The Squirtle stood for a moment, wondering what the best position was to rest in his new body. Before the moment could stretch on to become awkward, he settled for the way he had first woken, and sat down against the wall with his short legs stretched out in front of him. His shell made the TOK sound as it clinked against rock. He flinched.

The Cyndaquil seemed to be studying him. “Well,” he began, “we made it out of Root Forest. That place was insane! The storm really bothered all the Pokémon living there, huh?”

The Squirtle's thoughts were elsewhere. Something about the situation was bothering him, but he had built up so many questions, and even forgotten some of them, that he couldn't pin down what exactly was unsettling him so. “Oh...yes, it was like everyone had lost it completely.” He was about to ask about why each Pokémon they encountered was intent on killing them, when the Cyndaquil spoke up.

“Oops, I forgot my manners!” The Cyndaquil rose to all fours. He seemed tense, prepared to launch himself in any direction. “My name's Quil.”

The Squirtle was startled by the Cyndaquil's sudden change in posture, and stood up hurriedly. But when the Cyndaquil declared his name, he snorted in amusement. The snort almost became a full-blown laugh, but he checked it just in time. His companion would obviously be offended by someone laughing at his name. Quil, though? He was a Cyndaquil! What kind of name was Quil? That would be like a Mudkip named Kip, or a Charmander named Char!

The Squirtle turned his snort into a cough, and pretended to regain his breath. Quil. Wow. The Cyndaquil waited in the same ready position. So the Squirtle opened his mouth to say his name in turn. “My name's...” His name did not spring to mind like it always did. He had nothing to say, so he trailed off. “It's...my name is...” He felt himself freeze in shock. His name was unknown to him. The Squirtle didn't know his own name! 

The Cyndaquil chuckled softly in his quiet voice. “Oh, you don't know your own name? This is the first time I've heard some humor from you!”

What was his name? What was his name!? One's name had to be the most fundamental thing that everyone simply knew. One of the first words learned, the word most important to one's identity, one's life, one's experience! Not knowing it was impossible, laughable. Then how could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten what everyone called him? He racked his mind for the first time since waking up under the tree, tried to access his memories now that he had solace from the chaos and fast pace of the forest.

That was it. That was what had been bothering him in the back of his mind.

His memories were a void. The Squirtle could not recall a single moment before waking up. The only memories he had were those he experienced since waking up under the tree. In other words, he had less than a half hour's worth of memories. His entire conscious experience was a measly few minutes.

The Squirtle was nearly speechless. “I don't...my name is...I don't know. I don't know anything. My memories are gone! Quil, I can't remember a single thing! What happened? Why did this happen to me?”

Quil's expression slowly changed as the Squirtle watched. It had to be the equivalent of a fading grin. “I hope you're still joking. But let's be serious now, please. That's not funny.”

“You think I'm joking?” He exhaled sharply in derision. “Of course you think I'm joking. The situation I'm in is a joke! I'm a Squirtle, talking to a talking Cyndaquil, and – oh, that makes me a talking Squirtle – and we're sitting in a cave waiting for a huge thunderstorm to pass when not a single drop of rain has fallen. That's not mentioning that I have no idea who I am, where I come from, or, or what I'm supposed to do, or--”

He ran out of breath abruptly. The Squirtle breathed in and out, in and out, but the air was a long time in coming. His lungs were burning. Thinking about what he had just said, he realized he was wrong in one aspect. He did have an idea of who he was. Or at least, what he had been. Otherwise, he would have no idea that waking up as a Pokémon was crazy. And, he realized as he thought more, he did remember some things. He must have, because he had remembered the saying about young Squirtle getting stuck on their backs. But who had said it? He let his eyes lose focus as he tried to zero in on a voice or a face, the person who had last mentioned Squirtle ending up trapped on their backs. Yet nothing sprung to his mind, the way a memory should. The memory of the expression was present, certainly, but no associated speaker, or place. It was as if he had learned the saying, then all of the context had been plucked straight out of his head.

Quil had been speaking, and was now sitting on his haunches. “...can't remember anything? What were you doing before I ran into you in the meadow? Can you remember that?”

Again, the Squirtle tried thinking backwards, retracing his steps. The wind howled outside as the time passed. The weather was improving slowly. The periodic blasts of high winds were becoming less ferocious, and less frequent. The swaying of the trees at the forest's edge was becoming harder to spot as the storm moved away or dissipated.

“It's no use. I can't remember anything specific. I do remember bits of knowledge though, like sayings, or Pokémon names, or...myself, I guess. I still have a personality, right? And I know that--” He closed his mouth. He was on the brink of explaining exactly why waking up as a Squirtle was so strange. But that would be foolish. The knowledge that he was not always a Pokémon was just about the only advantage he had at the moment. For all intents and purposes, the Squirtle was in a new world. No maps, no destination, and no memories were available to guide him. He needed every advantage he could get. He had no idea how safe it would be to reveal everything he knew to this Cyndaquil. Besides, how would the Cyndaquil react? For all the Squirtle knew, Quil could take off.

“I know that I was sleeping before you came into that clearing beneath the huge tree,” he said instead. “Waking up is my first memory.”

“How bizarre,” Quil replied. “You don't think you were struck by lightning under that tree, do you? That could explain why you were unconscious. Although, I've never heard of any Pokémon losing their memory to a lightning strike, or a move, or...well, anything.”

The Squirtle toyed with the idea, but discarded it. “No, that can't be it. I woke up disoriented but completely unscathed. And the tree was intact, too.”

Both were silent for a moment. Then the Cyndaquil said, “Well, Squirtle, I'm sorry this happened to you, that's for sure.”

The Squirtle felt a pang of indignation at that. He was not a Squirtle! At least not inside, and not in the past. He tried to stop his emotions from showing on his face so as to not let the Cyndaquil in on his secret. “It's not your fault, Quil,” he mumbled.

“Is it alright if I call you Squirtle? Since you can't remember your nickname, if you had one?”

Interesting. So Pokémon had nicknames that others called them by. “Yes, sure. That's sensible.”

“Great.” Again, Quil rose to all four feet, looking ready to fight or flee. “I'm Quil,” he said unnecessarily.

Warily, the Squirtle rose to two feet. Quil was obviously expecting reciprocation. “For now...call me Squirtle.”

And with that, Quil crouched even lower, and dashed forward, head first, toward Squirtle.

Squirtle had enough time to throw his arms up and take half a step back before Quil's head drove into the front of his shell. Squirtle was lifted off his feet and thrown through the air. A cave wall stopped his short flight. The impact broke off a few chunks of rock which clattered to the floor as he fell to the ground roughly. The Cyndaquil packed a punch!

“Agh, Squirtle, what are you doing!? I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't expecting...you didn't...why didn't you try to tackle me or something? Sorry!” Quil rushed forward to help him to his feet. The Cyndaquil's snout and brows were in the same position as when he had concernedly told the Paralyzed Squirtle that he would not leave him. A distraught expression, then. There was yet hope for Squirtle's ability to read Cyndaquil facial expressions.

“I'm okay, I think.” Surprisingly, he was perfectly okay. The blow would have landed him at least an injury or two, before his Pokémon transformation – a concussion or fractured rib perhaps. Now, though, he felt no lingering pain or other signs of long-term damage. Quil's headbutt and the collision with the rock wall had hurt, but not nearly as much as Squirtle felt they should have. “Doesn't your head hurt, Quil?”

The Cyndaquil's expression changed. “Huh? Erm...no, I'm fine, I'm fine.” He sounded confused. The tip of his left hindleg began to draw small circles in the fine pebbles on the ground as he stood. The motion was distracting, but the Cyndaquil didn't seem to notice he was doing it. “But Squirtle, why didn't you...you know. Push me back?”

“Because I completely wasn't expecting whatever you just did. Why would you headbutt me in the middle of a conversation? For a little Pokémon, you tend to get right up in the face of other Pokémon really often.”

The spike-like flames on the Cyndaquil's back flared, their light intensity and length jumping higher for a couple of seconds. The gloom of the cave retreated from the flame. Quil looked directly at Squirtle, seeming on the verge of retorting. But the fire died down, and with it, Quil's bristling posture. “You're not the biggest Pokémon yourself, Squirtle,” he muttered even more quietly than normal.

“Mm,” Squirtle said. He hadn't meant to upset Quil.

After a moment, Quil said, “It's because you lost your memories, isn't it? I'm sorry. I should have realized you might not remember how Pokémon introduce themselves.”

“You mean to say...Pokémon greet each other by attacking each other?” Uh-oh, thought Squirtle. That sounded too much like he was not a Pokémon. Quickly, he added, “Where I'm from, we probably have a different custom. I just can't remember it, of course.”

Quil nodded. “Makes sense. If you can remember sayings and other general knowledge, I bet you wouldn't forget everyday things like introducing yourself.”

The pair listened to the wind outside during the break in conversation. It had died down considerably. Now that the noise outside was quieter, Squirtle found he could actually hear Quil's flames. The air burned and crackled in the flames extending out of Quil's back, emitting a barely perceptible roar. The sound of a bundle of dry sticks spewing streams of flame into the open, limitless air.

Squirtle took to pacing the short length of the cave – fifteen paces each way. In his mind, he ran over the facts he knew. Quil rested against the rear wall, apparently lost in thought himself. It wasn't long before Squirtle spoke up. First things first.

“Quil, what are you doing out here? How come you were traveling through the forest?”

The Cyndaquil's snout drooped. “I have to get somewhere, Squirtle. I'm on a journey.” He paused. “A long, long journey,” he said, wistfully.

“Where to?”

Quil's eye wrinkles stretched sideways, and the fur at the base of his snout twitched. His snout-tip pointed a bit higher. A smile! “You wouldn't know it if I said it, would you? My next stop is Karprest though. Is that familiar to you?”

Squirtle shook his head. “To be honest, it doesn't much matter to me. Quil, I...” He hesitated. Maybe Cyndaquil were solitary Pokémon, and Quil would react negatively to his request. But Quil certainly didn't seem like a loner from the way he had acted thus far. He turned away from Quil, working up courage. Well, his dignity was already stripped from him somewhere in the forest between his being stuck on his back and his frantic whispers of “What do we do?! What do we do?!”

He faced Quil. “Quil...I don't know where to go. I don't know what to do. And I...I can't remember how to fight Pokémon, so I'm...I'm a bit helpless, I guess.” Warmth filled his face. It was almost pleasant knowing that his new form could blush too. Almost.

Quil watched, listening intently. Squirtle pressed on before he could lose his nerve. “You seem to know how to look out for yourself, and you're the only Pokémon I've encountered that hasn't attacked me. Well, attacked me with violent intent.” He tried to crack a smile, but he was too fearful of rejection for it to come out as anything more than a lop-sided mouth jerk.

“What I mean to say is...Quil, can I travel with you?”

In response, the Cyndaquil contracted into himself, becoming small and compact. He squeezed himself as small as he could get, becoming a ball of fur and flame on the cave floor. Squirtle stepped forward tentatively. Was Quil alright? Why did he curl up so tightly? It was as if he was going to...

Quil exploded upward. As he pirouetted in the air, all four limbs extended outward in joy, Quil shouted his response. “YES!” The instant he landed, Quil leaped forward to take the nonplussed Squirtle's hand with his stubby forelimbs, and performed a wild little victory dance right then and there, laughing all the while.

His energy was infectious. Squirtle sighed in relief, and smiled. He chuckled in amusement at Quil's impassioned reaction. Then he laughed at Quil's antics, and mimicked Quil's jig. And soon, he found himself laughing heartily for no particular reason. He felt lighthearted and joyous. Some of the weight that had accumulated on his shoulders since waking up under that tree was now lifted. He wasn't going to be alone. He wouldn't have to face these trying circumstances with no one to turn to for help.

“I'm so glad you want to come with me, Squirtle!” Quil said. “The first leg of my journey wasn't a problem, but Wildfire Fields was a bit daunting. Once I made it out, I kept thinking about how tough it would be to keep on like that. Fighting the Pokémon there by myself, walking all day by myself, you know, it's not how Pokémon should be! Now, my dad kept telling me,” Here Quil lowered his voice's pitch in imitation, “The Pilgrimage is your burden, you must not rely on other, stronger Pokémon for help.” His voice returned to normal. “But this is fine! You're not st--” he stopped short, and he looked away from Squirtle. “Erm...that is, I haven't seen you fight, but...you said it yourself: you think you're a bit helpless. I'm not breaking any promises if you accompany me, Squirtle.” Excitement crept back into his voice. “Let's go together!” He chuckled gleefully.

Squirtle continued to smile. Without thinking, he began to throw his arm forward purposefully to offer a handshake. Never mind that the Cyndaquil had no hands and his own forelimbs may not be able to grip anything very well. His old ways still wanted to make themselves known. As his arm stretched out, he realized that a handshake would never exist in this Pokémon culture. Squirtle turned his motion into a stretch forward and upward, and followed it up with his other arm. Hopefully Quil wouldn't think twice about the odd 'stretch'. Squirtle was surprised once again by his body as he extended his limbs to their maximum extent. They were so short!

“Oh, so you're ready to go, Squirtle? Me too!” Quil exclaimed.

Whoops. Squirtle turned his head, in the middle of his stretch, and glanced outside the cave hollow. The worst of the storm was decidedly over. A breeze was present, no doubt, and would likely persist for quite a while. Daylight was burning though. If the hilly landscape was at last traversable, there would be no point in staying put.

“Ready when you are, Quil.”

The pair quit the hollow, blinking in the relative brightness. Rather, Squirtle was blinking. Quil probably didn't need to blink because his eyes were barely open, if at all. The stormy haze had lessened along with the jostling winds, so Squirtle could follow by eye the path that wended all the way down to the structures at the riverside. The hills obscured the majority of the path, but it was definitely continuous with plenty of room to move, which promised an easy walk.

Did Pokémon have villages, or even cities? No other explanation came to Squirtle's mind regarding the clearly 'Pokémon-made' structures at the end of the road. The walls were broad slats of wood, and grasses packed tightly together served as roofing. Some had rectangular or circular apertures cut into the side as windows, and some even had wind vanes atop the roofs. Those would have seen some action in the last few hours, thought Squirtle.

The structures' architecture was a far cry from greatness, especially since signs of damage were evident even from this distance. The storm had been brutal. And unless those buildings fell to pieces each time bad weather struck, this storm was especially powerful. No surprise, considering the state of the forest-dwelling Pokémon.

Quil followed Squirtle's gaze. “Karprest. My next stop.” His voice brightened. “Our next stop.”

“So that's Karprest.” He refrained from asking the questions on his mind, the foremost being 'Is it a Pokémon village?' Even now, remaining cautious with his words around Quil was mandatory, as he could not afford to give the impression of confusion and naivete when speaking about ideas and knowledge that were commonplace to Quil, or presumably any other traveling Pokémon. Squirtle's loss of memories would allow him some leeway, but it would be best to not ask too many questions. With a sinking heart, he realized his curiosity and thirst for answers would constantly have to be weighed against the need to avoid sounding like a total outsider to Quil.

Squirtle took a deep breath. He expected to smell the scents he had long ago come to associate with the calm following a storm: the moistness of reinvigorated soil, the freshness of the still grass, the myriad scents emanating from the plant life all around. No such smells existed here. The storm had left dryness and, if anything, a burnt electrical smell. If lightning had a smell, Squirtle thought, this would be it.

Squirtle was not eager for traveling, but it was a necessity. Answers would not find him. He'd have to seek them out.

Quil said, “Let's talk about the long-term a bit later on, okay, Squirtle? I want to focus on reaching Karprest. I have a hunch that Root Forest's Pokémon won't be the last ones we encounter who are looking for a fight. Out here, with no cover from the storm, the last couple of hours must have been terrifying.” Squirtle grunted his assent.

The Cyndaquil and Squirtle began walking along the dirt path that continued from the forest's mouth all the way down to the river in the distance.

“I just realized,” said Quil suddenly, “What a coincidence that this terrible, rainless thunderstorm hit on the same day you woke up without any memories!” He chuckled softly in wonder.

Squirtle took in a sharp breath. Quil was right. How had he not realized that already? The two unprecedented events had to be linked somehow. The odds of them being independent of each other were astronomical.

“Stranger things have happened though. It's just a one-of-a-kind day, right?” Quil walked steadily onward, apparently believing the two extraordinary events to really be a coincidence. Squirtle couldn't rule that possibility out, but his mind naturally concluded that powerful coincidences like this were rare. He no longer had memories of any examples that compared to this situation, but the experience was nonetheless there, somewhere in his skull.

As the pair rounded the first bend in the road to circle around a grassy rise, a lone tree came into view on the side of the road. Its branches extended over a few bushes and shrubs that grew near the tree's base. The ensemble brought to Squirtle's mind images of a towering man holding back a pack of bloodthirsty beasts, all tensed and fervently awaiting the signal to leap forth and savage whatever passed on the road.

With that disturbing image, Squirtle cut off his previous train of thought about coincidences. Quil was right, and Squirtle ought to trust him: danger could be anywhere around them. This was no pleasure stroll. For all they knew, bloodthirsty beasts could be waiting amongst that cover. They had to be vigilant.

Because if they were attacked, there would be no place to hide. No place to escape to. This was the open countryside. Squirtle swallowed, trying to quell the rising fear. If they were attacked, he would have to fight.


	3. Foreign

“Would you like a berry, Squirtle?”

Quil plucked two bright berries from the boughs of a delicate tree. Each was a vivid sky blue, and when looked at closely, covered with darker speckles all over. Not counting the wide leaves at the stem, each berry was big enough to be two or three mouthfuls. Fuller mouthfuls, for the Cyndaquil.

He backed away from the berry tree, carrying the berries gingerly using both forelimbs, and rejoined Squirtle on the path leading through the hills and slopes to Karprest.

“We have to keep our strength up on the road, Squirtle. I don't know about you, but I've been hungry since we left Root Forest. So unless you have some snacks stashed in your shell...” He pretended to give a look-over of Squirtle's shell. “...you must be hungry too!” He laughed lightly.

Squirtle nodded gratefully and accepted one of the berries. As he caught the berry's faint, unfamiliar scent, he found he was hungry.

“Thanks, Quil. What is it?”

“Actually...I don't know.”

Squirtle stopped with the fruit halfway to his mouth. “You don't know?”

Hurriedly, Quil said, “Oh, well I know it's not poisonous! I've eaten them before! I just don't know what they're called, or if they're useful for reversing any conditions. But honestly, they're fine to eat. I know that much. They can't be harmful if I've eaten them before with no side-effects, right? Not even a stomach ache.”

Squirtle thought for a moment, berry in hands, then asked, “Are there foods that affect different Pokémon in different ways?”

“I...never thought of that, Squirtle. But no, not that I know of. Someone would have told me if that were true, I think. A berry's a berry.” He Cyndaquil-smiled at Squirtle, which was identifiable by his eye wrinkles stretching sideways.

Squirtle nodded, and without further hesitation, chomped down on the skin of the berry. The slightly hooked shape of his upper lip helped to break through the skin of the berry. Maybe it would help in a tight spot during a fight, he thought offhandedly as the berry juice rushed into his mouth. 

Bitter. The berry tasted decidedly bitter. However, the berry's spongy texture and water component redeemed it. The bitterness wasn't too strong, anyway. Squirtle could overlook the taste, considering his formidable hunger. As he started on his second bite, Squirtle felt something on his skin that he thought he recognized. The sensation felt like a chilly breeze whispering against his exposed skin. But he soon forgot about the fading sensation as he noticed what Quil was doing.

The Cyndaquil had his berry balanced on the tip of his short snout. He was walking next to the Squirtle on his two legs as he had been, but his face was pointed straight up. The blue berry was desperately trying to roll off his snout. Yet Quil was skilled, and countered every one of the berry's wobbly motions with a quick adjustment of his snout position. All the while, he silently and smoothly kept pace with Squirtle.

“Impressive,” Squirtle commented.

Quil jerked his snout back, allowing the berry to drop to his mouth. He took a little bite and sucked in as much of the flowing juice as he could. After chewing and swallowing, he said, “Thanks. My older brother used to balance his food like that all the time.” Quil was smiling. “He was an expert,” he added quietly.

Squirtle turned away and resumed scanning the road sides for threats. Quil must have been close to his family, as he'd mentioned them a couple of times already. Squirtle wanted to ask his companion why he was journeying, and where he came from, but questions addressing immediate matters, like survival, had to be asked first.

Up on a nearby hilltop, with its body framed against the cloudy sky, Squirtle spotted a small Pokémon. It had pointy, horn-like structures sprouting from its head, and its arms swirled outward to become floral blooms. Roselia. The species name sprung into Squirtle's mind, as it had with Cyndaquil. Thus, Squirtle could remember the names of at least the more common Pokémon. Fortunately, the silhouette seemed to regard them for a moment, then turn away and descend the other side of the hill.

“Did you see that Pokémon? I think a Roselia?” Squirtle raised his little arm to point. “It was atop that hill, way over there.”

“No, I must have missed it. Why?”

“It noticed us, but it left us alone.”

“Yeah, I think you're right, Squirtle.” He took a little bite out of his speckled berry. “But what's strange about that?”

Squirtle felt himself beginning to blush again. Being ignorant of what was apparently common sense was really embarrassing him! Yet he couldn't take back what he said now.

“Well, why didn't it attack us? Every other Pokémon we've seen has. And you said it yourself, the Pokémon living out here just experienced the storm to end all storms. You made it sound like they would be scared into a fighting mood.”

“Erm, Squirtle...wouldn't you?”

Squirtle was taken aback. His reasoning mind wanted to immediately respond 'No,' but he reminded himself of his present position and his new perspective. He imagined himself huddling behind the leeward side of a tree, making himself as small as he could, and desperately waiting for the storm to pass each time a lightning bolt illuminated the countryside with an accompanying thunderclap. Yes, he would be frightened. But he would not want to fight any travelers that passed by. Definitely not. He told the Cyndaquil so.

This time, Quil seemed surprised. “But Squirtle, your instincts would be roused. I don't know much about the instincts of your kind, but I know that most Pokémon fight first and ask questions later when they find themselves in a dangerous situation. That's just how we are when our instincts rise up.”

He lowered his head and seemed embarrassed when he spoke again. “Explaining this is so odd. You don't have your memories though, so I'm not just stating the obvious, right? If you could remember your past, I'm sure you could recall times when your instincts took over after you were scared or threatened.”

I doubt it Quil, Squirtle thought with a grimace. Thinking further, an inconsistency with Quil's explanation occurred to him.

“Quil, you didn't want to battle other Pokémon, back in the forest. And I didn't either.”

Quil laughed softly. “Ha, I admit, it's easier for some 'mon to keep their heads, as it is for you or me. It helps if you're a traveler, since there are no territorial urges at work.” He began to sound uncomfortable again. “This is just so strange, explaining this. Do you understand what this is like, Squirtle? I feel like I'm explaining why Bugs are scared of Flyers, or what color the sky is.”

“Please, continue,” Squirtle urged.

“Anyway, so there are no territorial urges – homes to protect, children to defend, food sources to look after. And I think simply being out of your element lessens the urge to fight, too. There's no reason to challenge and push out newcomers when you're away from home.” He reflected for a couple of seconds. He seemed pensive. “Oh, and Pokémon who don't live in the wild won't be itching to fight, either. The residents of Karprest will be peaceable. At least, they should be,” he finished quietly.

“Pokémon live outside the wild?”

“Some. It's not for everyone.”

Squirtle glanced over. “Did you, Quil?”

“Me? Oh, no. I live with my family over in Steady Steppe.” Noticing Squirtle's lack of reaction, he explained, “It's a prairie, a huge grassland. Back where we came from, way past Root Forest.” He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again. “That's where I'm from,” he said finally.

“Did you lose anything back in the forest? Equipment, or provisions for your trip?”

“I never brought anything in the first place, Squirtle.” He chuckled. “Finding food on the go has never been an issue for me. Besides,” he stopped and raised his rounded forelimbs, waggling them for effect. “Bags, ropes, knots – they don't do me any good!” He continued walking along the path. “Most Pokémon don't carry any gear with them, Squirtle,” he explained.

Squirtle kept his head up, but he no longer paid any attention to the road sides. His attention was held rapt by the Cyndaquil’s words. Yet he was still careful to not make any exclamations of surprise that would draw Quil's attention. Squirtle didn't want Quil to see the depths of his amazement, and raise any suspicions of Squirtle's history.

Pokémon didn't bring anything with them when they traveled! Remarkable! To think that a Pokémon could find anything it needed along the way, no matter the distance or terrain, seemed impossible. Although, Pokémon were wild creatures. They did not require the luxuries that Squirtle was used to, like sleeping bags or any form of clothing. Pokémon were resilient and hardy. They did not succumb easily to the elements, and sickness was practically unheard of. This, Squirtle knew. Though he could not recall where or how he learned about Pokémon, he was pleased to find that his knowledge was not lacking in that topic. Now I’m learning more about Pokémon, firsthand, he thought. It’s comforting to know that I’m not fragile on a dangerous trip like this.

Looking down, he considered his shell in a new light. He tapped various portions with a claw and listened to the short but pure notes of sound each tap produced. His shell was body armor and a musical instrument in one. Moving his gaze beyond his shell, he examined the blue skin he now wore. He tried pinching his arm between two claw tips, but the skin was not loose enough to allow even a tiny pinch. His skin was smooth as well as tight. No fur or scales gave it any texture.

His gait felt strange, since his legs were now shorter and farther apart. With every step he took, his toe-claws dug slightly into the ground to provide extra grip. As when he had reflexively dug in his claws to grip the monstrous root, Squirtle felt a tad disgusted when he thought about what his feet were doing. He tried not to think about how bestial and uncouth it was, and gradually became used to that aspect of his body.

Surprisingly, he had become accustomed to his tail in no time. Its presence felt natural, as if he'd had a strangely shaped tail extending out of the bottom of his shell for his whole life. He carried the tail just a few inches above the ground, and it curled further away from the ground along its length. Testing it now, Squirtle reckoned it was not as powerful as his other limbs, but it was still muscular and sturdy enough to do some damage if he ever used it as a club in a battle. He smiled foolishly as he drew circles in the air, trying out its range of motion. Thankfully, Quil wasn’t looking behind them.

The short fur coating Quil's body consisted of two colors. On his underside, it shone the same milky color as Squirtle's belly scutes, but everywhere else the fur was a blue much darker than Squirtle's skin. If Squirtle's coloration was the sky at noon, Quil's was the night sky slightly brightened by a full moon. Quil’s body was curiously shaped. His squat legs ended not in toes, but in a hard covering caught halfway between a hoof and a claw. Neither did Quil have any digits or claws on his forelimbs, but instead just a furry stub. His slender snout was tipped with two slits for nostrils.

Being on fire would alarm most Pokémon, but Quil appeared indifferent. Of course, he would be well used to it. Besides, having a back that spewed flames was far from being among the strangest or most alarming abilities of all the diverse Pokémon species. Looking closely, Squirtle could see four furless spots on Quil's back where the fire originated. The flames of each spot combined to form jagged spikes of fire that reached a good foot behind him. The Cyndaquil himself was only about a foot and a half tall, like Squirtle, so the flames were relatively far-reaching.

The eyes were what captivated Squirtle the most. Were they open? Quil could see just fine, so they had to be. But the area around the eyes was scrunched up! How could Quil see through all of the wrinkles? How could anyone? Squirtle wanted to know, badly, but he dared not ask his companion. He had a feeling that the Cyndaquil would have been asked countless times already. Quil's eyesight might well be an eternal mystery.

Squirtle's attention was drawn to a flicker of motion on the left. A Doduo was moving about on the grass near a rocky cliff drop. The left head kept nipping at the right head, while the right head tried to crane its neck out of reach. Both travelers noticed the wild Pokémon at the same time. Quickly, they scurried forward until the hilly landscape shielded them from view.

“Whew!” Quil exclaimed after a minute had passed. “Good thing the Doduo was distracted by...itself. Squirtle, you wouldn't happen to remember how Doduo can have two heads but one body, would you? How can they move? If one head wants to go one way, but the other head wants to go another way...?”

Squirtle tried to shrug, but found that he could not in his new form, so he said, “Sorry, I've got no answers. But try looking at it this way: you're on fire, but that's perfectly ordinary for you, right?”

Quil stopped and faced Squirtle. “What do you mean, 'that's perfectly ordinary for you'? Of course it is! Why would it be strange?”

Squirtle held his hands up defensively. “I just mean that Pokémon are many and diverse, and while Doduo having two heads makes no sense to us, the Doduo likely thinks it's the most normal thing in the world.”

Quil seemed to eye Squirtle for a moment, but then continued his walk down the road with a sigh that Squirtle barely heard. “Mm, you're right, Squirtle.”

Now Squirtle felt the mood was uncomfortable. “Quil, listen, I'm sorry if I ever come off as rude or tactless.” But I've never been a Pokémon before! he yelled in his head. “I just can't remember what to say, or how to say it. For all I know, I've never spoken with a Cyndaquil before. Please forgive me if I ever say the wrong thing.”

Quil took a moment to reply. “I understand. I have no right to be mad at you.” He turned and gave what appeared to be a slight smile.

Even after apologizing, Squirtle felt lousy. He owed the Cyndaquil so much in the brief time he'd known him, and all he had done to return Quil's kindness was ply him with questions and unintentionally insult him. At this rate, Quil would probably choose loneliness and a solitary journey over having Squirtle as a companion. Squirtle's face took on a determined cast. He would return Quil's generosity. He did not want to feel guilty or embarrassed again, like when Quil chose to defend him in the forest instead of fleeing. With his mind set, Squirtle awaited an opportunity to pay Quil back.

The leftovers of the storm clouds thinned out, but still the sun did not show even a glimpse of its light. The day grew darker as the pair hiked down the road to Karprest. Two more times, they spotted wild Pokémon, but managed to avoid a confrontation. At one point, the path pointed directly at Karprest, and the pair caught a glimpse of roofs through the hilly terrain. Karprest was about a half mile away. Half a mile away is half a world away now that I'm just a little Squirtle. Then Karprest was hidden from view, and they pressed on.

The path led around a steep hill. When the path straightened out, the ground on the other side of the path sloped upward, becoming another hill. The dirt road narrowed. It would barely squeeze through the canyon before it opened up once more a couple hundred paces ahead. The narrow canyon was the third canyon they'd traversed on the path. It would have been no cause to worry, but this time the dirt path halfway through the canyon was covered in rocks blocking their way. The canyon walls were exposed rock, a common sight in the area. But the storm had rattled the area and dislodged all loose gravel and larger rocks. The walk was set to become a brief rock climbing experience. Most of the rocks were at least as large as the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Quil deflated with a groan. “Too much to ask for an easy trip to Karprest,” he mumbled.

“Quil, you've made it all the way here in one piece, and you were alone. This is nothing to you! C'mon, let's just get it over with, eh?” Alright, maybe he went overboard with the enthusiasm.

Quil looked at him, then shook his head, laughing. “Lead on, O Fearless One!”

Squirtle flinched from the grating sound his claws made against the first of the fallen rocks. The quiet gloom of the canyon was exacerbated by the harsh sounds the Pokémon made as they scrambled over the rocks. Quil quickly went to all fours for more stability. His balance was thereby assured on the uneven and tilted surfaces he had to tread. Squirtle, on the other hand, maintained his upright posture. Inside he knew he should mimic Quil. His logical mind knew it, and his Squirtle body felt uncomfortable with his two-legged walking in this situation. Still, he did not give in.

I am the master of this body, and I know what is best. My...instincts, and the inclinations of this body I wear are not going to decide how I act. Not now, not ever.

The Cyndaquil did not make any comment, despite having to stop and wait every few seconds for the slower Squirtle to jump or step to the next rock. Maybe he thought it normal for the Squirtle species to stay on two feet on treacherous terrain. Squirtle knew otherwise, thanks to the apprehension he felt inside with every step. This is like making a turn on a bicycle without using the handlebars!

Halfway through the littered rocks and gravel, Squirtle lost his balance and slowly tipped over backwards toward the hard and angular rocks behind him. “Whoa!” he cried. He windmilled his arms, but it was too late.

“Squirtle!” called Quil, helpless to intervene.

Then he fell backwards. An unfamiliar urge compelled Squirtle to flex something inside. It was not a group of muscles he had ever used. He contracted, quicker than conscious thought.

Impact. His shell made a clatter that echoed against the canyon walls.

The world went dark. He could see nothing but blackness. No, there was some light, with blackness all around it. His field of vision had been significantly reduced. He could see an oval of dim gray light.

“Are you okay?”

Huh?

He was conscious. And not in pain. Still, his body felt strange, broken somehow. Like his head was pressed into his chest. His arms, legs and tail, too, were in a new position. Everything was pressed together, folded tightly into a small space.

Oh! Squirtle realized what had happened. He relaxed, releasing the tension of the muscles inside his shell. The light expanded, resolving into an image of the pebbles below the last jump he had made. At the same time, he felt his limbs and tail leave the slots in his shell.

“I'm okay, I'm okay,” he replied to the voice of Quil, who released a relieved sigh.

Squirtle determined he was facing earthward, and his shell was wedged between the two large rocks he had jumped between. No waggling or wiggling could move him. The two heavy rocks had him pinched in the front and back of his protective shell, suspending him a foot or two above the finer rocks that covered the path.

“Er, Quil, would you mind hoisting me up? I'm stuck.”

“Oh, of course.” Squirtle felt the Cyndaquil's furry forelimbs squeezing one of his ankles, then he was promptly pulled upward. With a new sort of scraping noise, his shell was released from the grasp of the rocks. He stood up on a flatter part of the rock.

“Thanks Quil.”

“Please, don't mention it,” he said, smiling. “I'm glad you're okay. Though, with a shell like that, I'd be surprised if you weren't.”

Squirtle nodded in agreement. “My shell...my shell isn't scratched is it?” He felt silly, worrying about his looks, but felt a compulsion to ask nonetheless. His Squirtle's needs and desires were affecting his mind again. Frustration rose within him, but was then replaced with doubt and uncertainty.

Were they his instincts as a Squirtle that made him worry about how his shell looked? Or had his personality changed in his transformation? Maybe more than just the form he wore had been changed. Maybe he was giving his new body too much credit, and half of what he thought was due to becoming a Squirtle, was actually caused by his identity being remolded during the transformation. Like moist clay, his personality could have been remade.

“Nope, your shell is brown like al-...wait, no, there's actually a little scratch. It's a bit darker right...here.” Squirtle felt a dull pressure as Quil traced a horizontal line across his back where he could not see. His sense of touch on his shell was faint and vague, so he could not tell exactly where Quil was pressing. He realized he wouldn't feel impacts and cuts nearly as much though, which far outweighed that negative.

“Alright, er...good to know,” he said to Quil, who nodded.

With that, the pair continued the remainder of the way over the rocks. This time, Squirtle moved at about half his previous speed. He did not want to take another tumble. Although he knew that his shell was there for protection, and thus its purpose was to be banged up, he felt protective of it. Those feelings and his musings about self-identity occupied him until his claws safely touched down on the dirt path once more.

Quil shook himself and his fire flared higher for a second. “Hoo! I hope we're back to easy walking from here on, Squirtle.” He fell into line behind Squirtle in the narrowness of the canyon. The opening out of the gloom was less than fifty steps ahead.

Squirtle allowed himself to relax. The one good thing about the enclosed canyon was its safety. They couldn't see any wild Pokémon from inside, and wild Pokémon couldn't see them.

A low growl emanated from the canyon's exit. Squirtle looked up sharply. There stood a Pokémon about the same size as Squirtle or Cyndaquil. Alternating brown and white striped fur covered its body up to its brown-furred face. A mask of black fur surrounded its eyes. Its jagged mouth was pulled back, revealing clenched fangs that shook with the beast's growl. Zigzagoon. Judging by its stance, the Pokémon had been crossing the path near the canyon's exit when it had looked inside and noticed the Cyndaquil and Squirtle.

Squirtle turned to check that Quil had heard the Zigzagoon, and watched Quil slowly lower himself to a battle-ready stance. Turning back, he swallowed.

From behind him, Quil said, “I don't like it, but we have no choice this time. We have to push forward Squirtle. We're going to have to fight that Zigzagoon.”

“Can't we...” Squirtle's eyes swept rapidly around him, taking in nothing but the steep rocky walls of the canyon. “Let's go back. Cross the rocks.”

The Zigzagoon's growl raised in pitch, and it hustled toward the pair. The look in its eyes spoke of determined violence. Squirtle could now see the dirty claws on each of its paws.

“Squirtle, I'm scared too! But this is what happens when you travel. I wish it was easier, trust me, I do. But this is how it is. Just...do what comes naturally, we'll be fine!” But Quil didn't sound very confident, and his voice was never loud to begin with. Squirtle was not inspired in the least.

The Zigzagoon was almost upon them. Here was a living, tangible beast that intended to hurt him, to physically knock him out. Squirtle's knees began to wobble. He felt unsteady.

He heard Quil shouting from behind him. “Squirtle, there's no room, I can't help you! Look out!”


	4. Battle

Within a canyon on the path to Karprest, Squirtle trembled in fear as the wild Zigzagoon approached him.

The Zigzagoon slowed down just before it reached Squirtle, as if testing its opponent's reaction. Squirtle took a step backward and raised his arms to ward off the Zigzagoon. The Zigzagoon darted forward and threw its body toward Squirtle. As it hurtled toward him, Squirtle half-twisted and half-fell to the side, pressing his shell back against the canyon wall. He was unable to fully evade the tackle, which caught him and sent him spinning to the ground. Small rocks that his shell had scraped off the wall clattered down upon him, making drum-like TOK! sounds when they struck his shell. Squirtle was on his feet again immediately, but he felt even less steady than before.

Now the Zigzagoon was between Quil and Squirtle. Quil slowly backpedaled on all fours. Soon he would be cornered against the rocks. The Zigzagoon looked between the pair with an appraising eye. It appeared to come to a decision, as it turned its back on Squirtle to face Quil fully. Both were immobile for a moment, then moved at the same time.

Each jumped forward, aiming to knock the other over. They met full on, and rebounded back to their feet. Squirtle wondered at a Pokémon's toughness, to be able to withstand a full-body tackle without having to worry about permanent damage. He stood there as if rooted, watching the battle and hoping fervently for Quil to triumph.

Quil seemed so different to Squirtle in this situation. The little Cyndaquil was tense and lively as he focused on his opponent. This was not the quiet, friendly companion who traveled with Squirtle, but a dangerous beast protecting itself, like a hidden identity had clawed itself out of the dark corners of Quil's mind and asserted itself in his body. Quil was embracing his instincts, his natural fighting spirit. Quil surely had plenty of battle experience to draw on, too.

Again, the Cyndaquil and Zigzagoon faced each other, preparing to clash. As Quil charged forward, the Zigzagoon scuttled backward. Then, it leaped not at Quil, but at the hard wall of the canyon. Quil stopped, surprised by his opponent's tactic. The Zigzagoon caught a rough patch of rock on the wall with his hind paws for only a fraction of a second before redirecting his momentum downward at Quil. Quil had pulled up short at the unexpected maneuver, and took the blow as he reared back to retreat. The Zigzagoon's weight slammed down on the Cyndaquil, driving both to the ground in a heap. Quil yelped as his breath was driven out.

“Quil!” shouted Squirtle. Behind the panic occupying his mind, he knew he needed to help Quil, to attack the Zigzagoon, to do something. But he didn't know how, didn't know the first thing about battling. He felt both antsy and scared stiff at the same time, enlivened and uncertain. Maybe he could...slam the Zigzagoon with his shell? He wouldn't hurt himself that way, right? His shell was up to the task. Or he could try to headbutt the Zigzagoon when it was distracted...?

Meanwhile, Quil gathered himself up and rolled violently, pushing the Zigzagoon off of his belly. But as soon as Quil had recovered, the Zigzagoon was in his face once more. This time, it crouched low, compressed itself like a spring, then loosed all of its forward energy in the form of a mighty headbutt. Its neck extended, it powered its brown head into Quil's belly from below. He was launched into the air, dislodged some shale from the wall, and landed roughly on the ground by the barrier of large rocks. 

The battle was turned in favor of the Zigzagoon. Squirtle knew the wild Pokémon was going to knock out Quil, or worse, unless he joined the fight. The initial frightening shock of the Zigzagoon's attack had worn off.

He felt like he could, and should make his move. But how? He felt like the spectator of a sport or game for which he did not know the rules. And now the players were calling for him to join, but he did not know how to play. Besides, how could he hope to make a difference when he had not even mastered walking?

“Squirtle!” Quil called out to him from beyond the Zigzagoon. “You have to do something! Please!” His voice sounded pained, and disoriented. Evidently Quil thought it was worth it to spend his efforts on calling out to Squirtle, instead of focusing entirely on his opponent. That meant Squirtle was his only hope, or he would not have used his precious breath and concentration on words. Squirtle drew in a big breath as quickly as he could, then let it out as he crept forward to close the distance between him and the Zigzagoon.

Now the Zigzagoon was trying to harass Quil from every angle it could. It tried to strike from the extreme left, then side stepped to the other wall, and struck out from the far right. Each time, Quil relinquished his ground. Finally, Quil bumped into a boulder at the rock-slide's edge, and yelped again as his feet slid out from beneath him on the loose gravel. Seizing the opportunity, the Zigzagoon aimed a full on tackle at Quil.

Quick as a whip, Quil curled up and squeezed backward into the tight space between the bulging boulder and the dirt ground. The Zigzagoon struck the body of the boulder and stumbled back, shaking its head. It voiced its frustration with a feral growl, and tried to scratch at Quil's curled up body. But Quil squirmed further into the space, pushing out the loose gravel to make room for his small body. The fire burning on Quil's back was mostly smothered by the close quarters, but some small jets of flame escaped the nook to provide some cover from the Zigzagoon's attacks.

Part of Squirtle ached to fight, to release his panic and pent-up energy in a flurry of motion. The other part thought the first part was crazy, and demanded to immediately flee. But this was his time to pay back Quil, to prove that he wasn't dead weight! He stood as close to the distracted Zigzagoon as he dared.

If he was going to launch an attack, now would be a great time. But what would he do? Just...run into the Zigzagoon, shell back-first? Or punch it with his little arm? All of his options seemed very foolish compared to the beastly ferocity of the fight he was witnessing.

Maybe...maybe he was thinking about it all the wrong way!

“Squirtle!” Quil squeaked, as the Zigzagoon struggled to roll the boulder aside. “Do something! Don't think about it, just do it! Hurry!”

Of course! Squirtle quashed all the plans and strategies fermenting in his mind. For the first time since waking, he strived to forget about his thoughts. To just let go. No method. No complexity. Squirtle closed his eyes as he tried to shrug free of his top-down ways of thinking. He had to think about it from the ground up: body, then mind. This time, it would be act first, think later.

He opened his eyes. The Zigzagoon was digging away at the small rocks protecting Quil. Squirtle had to stop the Zigzagoon, now! He stepped forward, and shouted forcefully at the Zigzagoon's back. He meant to aggressively say “Hey!”, but what issued out was a wordless snarl. The wild Pokémon jerked around to face the noise. Squirtle waved his tail back and forth above him like a flag. His posture felt new to him as he did so, and he noticed his hands were on the ground. The position felt natural. Squirtle banished these thoughts as soon as he became aware of them. Thinking was the enemy.

The flashy motion snared the Zigzagoon's attention. It left Quil, choosing instead to approach Squirtle cautiously. The waving of his tail appeared to have a nearly hypnotic effect upon the Pokémon. It seemed less wary, but definitely still hostile. The Zigzagoon bared its teeth to Squirtle as it stepped toward him.

Why was he waving his tail? Squirtle almost stopped the motion, but knew the distraction was working. He hadn't planned it, so it must have been an instinctual response. Squirtle tried to forget about what he was doing, and lose himself in the moment again, but his fear began to boil. The Zigzagoon neared striking range.

This isn't what I want! Leave me alone! His thoughts were racing. He couldn't help it. 

The Zigzagoon's eyes widened as it heard movement upon the path behind it, but a second too late. Quil hit it with a surprise attack from behind with a loud grunt. Squirtle stumbled backwards as the flailing Zigzagoon skidded to a stop a few feet in front of him.

Slowly, its paws found the ground, and it began to stand. No, Squirtle thought, stay down! Quil was still recovering from his attack, his fur coated in rock dust. Squirtle had to act now, before the Zigzagoon could keep on fighting.

With a shout, Squirtle finally closed the distance. He didn't know what he was going to do in that moment, and that lack of forethought aided him. His body seemed to naturally take a full-on tackling position. Squirtle's feet pushed off the ground. His arms where thrown back to his sides. His eyes squeezed shut at the last moment.

Squirtle's forehead struck the Zigzagoon's flank with all of his weight behind it. The Zigzagoon was knocked away and rolled over twice from the impact.

Quil cheered for him weakly from the other side of the Zigzagoon. “Yeah, Squirtle! Great tackle!” The acoustics of the canyon permitted Squirtle to easily hear his words, despite their softness.

This time, the Zigzagoon did not stand up immediately. Its eyes were half-lidded as it struggled to its feet. Its brown and white striped tail drooped as much as its tongue drooped from its panting mouth. The Pokémon, evidently, had lost all interest in fighting, since it dragged itself to the side of the path and studiously ignored the two travelers.

Squirtle stood up from where he had landed after his tackle. He felt exhilarated, and ready to keep moving. Yet the Zigzagoon had had it. The battle was over. And they had...won? They had won! He helped! He and Quil had defeated the Zigzagoon! Squirtle jumped into the air wearing a broad grin.

“All right! We did it!” He shouted to Quil, not caring that his defeated foe was sitting right in front of him. Quil responded in kind, albeit with less energy.

When the cheers stopped, Quil did something Squirtle found very interesting. Quil faced the Zigzagoon and inclined his head. It implied appreciation, or respect.

What really surprised Squirtle was that the Zigzagoon responded. It gave a head bob. Then, it rotated its head toward Squirtle and gave another short nod. Squirtle was taken aback, unsure of how to respond. The Zigzagoon had already stopped paying attention though. It returned to sullenly recuperating.

Quil strode toward Squirtle, not missing a beat as he sidled past the Zigzagoon in the cramped canyon space. Was he not worried that the Zigzagoon would lash out? It was a wild Pokémon. Again, Squirtle felt like he was playing in a game without knowing the rules. He had to be missing something. That was nothing new though.

“Want to get out of here, Squirtle?” Quil prompted.

Squirtle felt confused, but nodded, and they headed out of the canyon at last.

The path widened, taking the pair out into the spacious and relatively bright countryside once more. The air felt warmer and smelled sweeter after the rocky canyon. The wind had all but died, and the cloud cover had reduced to the point where one could see the individual clouds overlapping instead of a formless shroud. Karprest was visible as they left the canyon. Now they were close. Good thing, too, as the darkening sky suggested the sun was close to setting.

Squirtle was beaming once more. “We did it Quil! We beat the Zigzagoon!”

Quil laughed quietly. “It took you quite a while, but yeah, we won!”

“Sorry. I didn't know what to do, how to fight. I wanted to help you the whole time, really! But I couldn't figure out my approach.” Squirtle gave a chuckle of his own. “Sounds silly, right?”

“Well...yes. That's strange, not knowing how to fight. The distraction was perfect though! So thanks.” Quil smiled at him.

Squirtle nodded, highly pleased with himself. He had been integral to their success, even if Quil had done all the work, and taken all the hits. Squirtle felt elated. He didn't see himself as the type that relished physical conflict, so this inner satisfaction he felt was surprising. The feeling was more than satisfaction, though, it was an inner fire. The thrill he felt as he finally engaged the Zigzagoon left a lasting impression. Over and over, Squirtle relived the feeling of rushing forward, driving into his opponent, and standing up, victorious. Squirtle basked in the sensation, content. He wanted to battle again and keep the fire alive.

With ferocity in his eyes, his mind relived the other moments of the battle, bringing the fear along with them. He recalled the helplessness, the terror of seeing a Pokémon running toward him with violent intent in its eyes. And that was just a Zigzagoon. How in the world would he be able to summon an ounce of courage in the face of a bigger, scarier Pokémon? Maybe he didn't want to experience another battle after all.

I guess I've got a long way to go before I'm not...a coward.

However, Squirtle had been able to forget his fear. All he needed was to blank his mind, and let his natural impulses run unchecked. If he could become well-practiced in letting go, he wouldn't need to be courageous or confident.

“Quil, do you think when you fight? Or do you just go with the flow?”

“Huh? Go with the flow?” Quil's voice was bemused.

I'm an idiot, thought Squirtle. I sound like an alien to him. “It's an expression. When you go with the flow, you just go along with whatever is happening at the time, and don't resist it.”

“Hm. I think I get it. Your home must be far away, Squirtle, if they have expressions like that. I've never heard of it before, not once.” He paused thoughtfully. “Around Steady Steppe, where I live, and probably everywhere else on that side of Root Forest, we say, 'Your head thinks, your gut knows.' I don't think much about what I'm doing in a battle. Besides, it's almost impossible to think straight, isn't it?”

Squirtle nodded his agreement. Here, the land had leveled out from its descent. Hills and cliffs abounded still, but the general elevation decline had finished, as the path neared the river.

Quil continued, “I don't think there's anything brainy or complicated about it. Pokémon are meant to battle. I often wish that we weren't, but that's how it is.” Quil froze for a moment, as if he had said something he had not meant to. “Er, what I meant is, battling is grueling work, and sometimes you just want to relax or not worry about getting stronger, right? Don't you think so, Squirtle?”

Just like that, the Cyndaquil seemed to be pleading with him. Squirtle fumbled for words before managing to say, “Yes, sometimes.”

Quil bobbed his head, turning back to the road ahead. “Okay, great. You know, you're a great listener Squirtle. I feel like I could talk and talk all day to you. Please, let me know if I'm ever annoying you!”

I listen because my mental landscape is a wasteland, and you're planting seeds, thought Squirtle. I need the knowledge that you have.

“You're not Quil, you're not,” Squirtle replied.

* * *

The Squirtle and Cyndaquil turned the final bend in the path and beheld the first structures of Karprest. The small village, if that is what Karprest was, could be crossed on foot in maybe five minutes. The buildings, built of wood, stood upon foundations that kept them well above the ground. Each was but a single story, and mostly unadorned. No signs swung in the breeze, and no writing was inscribed into the wooden boards. 

Next to the closest building to the pair, a metal arrow lay in the dirt – a fallen wind vane. Torn grasses were still wrapped around the base from where the storm had ripped it out of the roof. The fallen vane was not the only sign of recent damage to the buildings. Squirtle spotted a cracked flowerpot on the front steps to one home, its precious soil spilled. A miniature garden on the side of another house had been stripped bare by the storm, leaving only packed soil and scattered petals of many hues. The red color of a couple of broken berries jumped out amid the desolation of the garden.

The road widened out and all but faded away as it led toward the center of Karprest. The village did not seem to have a central road, or even true streets or alleys. The buildings were placed as if their builders had decided to construct the next one wherever was convenient at the time. As such, the village had a natural feel to it. Karprest was adapted to the natural features of the landscape, not the other way around. It sprawled out by the river's edge, like a herd of wild Tauros resting for a drink.

A Lotad hurried across the path in the distance, closer to the river. Other than that, the only Pokémon in sight was a Cubone. Its short tail swung to and fro as it busied itself by the broadest wall of a building near to Squirtle and Quil.

The pair walked slowly into town, turning their heads about and taking in the sights. Turning, the Cubone's eyes lit upon them.

“Hey, you two. Help me for a minute?” His voice was gruff, and coarse like sandpaper.

Quil and Squirtle shared a glance. The Cyndaquil said nothing, so Squirtle spoke up after a moment's hesitation. “Sure. What do you need?”

“C'mere. It's simple.” The Cubone set his bone leaning against the wooden wall. A couple of crude metal nails stuck out of the wood where the Cubone had not yet hammered them in with his bone. He switched tasks, pulling on the edge of the grass roof covering.

“Pull the weave down as much as you can,” instructed the Cubone. “Hold tension.”

Squirtle gripped the grass weave with his tiny fingers and claws, pulling it down as much as it would easily go. “Like this?”

The Cubone grunted an affirmative to Squirtle's question. He threaded a rope of reed fibers through the grassy roof weave, before deftly pulling it downward and tying it around a wooden shaft partway down the wall. Quil craned his neck to follow the Cubone's expert movements. The Cubone rotated the shaft, tightening the reed rope. Squirtle felt the rope take over his job as tension-bearer once the Cubone finished.

The Cubone grunted again as he took a step back and appraised his work. The grunt could have been a pleased grunt, a satisfied grunt, an indifferent grunt, or a few other types of grunt, but Squirtle could not tell due to the warlike skull covering the Cubone's face. With his facial expression hidden, the Cubone looked quite intense. The dark eyes and angular spikes of his body and skull helmet supported the fierce image.

“That'll do.” He turned to Squirtle. “Much obliged, Squirtle. My partner is away on one of his...'training excursions' today of all days.” His eyes narrowed. “I've been short-handed when Karprest needs repairs the most.”

Quil was not forthcoming with any conversation, so Squirtle replied, “Ah, so you're a builder, a carpenter?”

“Mm. I specialize in the foundation. Keep Karprest dry when the river floods. Those storm winds didn't knock down any of my buildings, thankfully. Still wish my Machoke was here though. He'd have been a great help.” The Cubone hammered in a couple of nails into the wall near the mechanism with the blunt end of his bone.

THOCK! THOCK! THOCK!

“You two travelers then? Where from?” He said, still focused on his work.

Quil and Squirtle shared another look.

“We're from Steady Steppe,” said Quil. “Way west. The storm sure was dreadful! No rain, though. Did it rain here?”

“No. Just felt like a thousand Fearow beating the air at us. Lightning, too. Started more than one fire, but we don't have problems with fire in Karprest. Plenty of Wets live here, or nearby. I'm Bein, by the way.”

Wets? Squirtle thought. Is that how Pokémon refer to Water-types, or Pokémon that can use water-based moves?

“I'm Quil!” chirped the Cyndaquil. In response, the Cubone halted his bone's repetitive hammering motion mid-swing. He turned from the wall and jabbed his skull-clad head forward at Quil, who met the attack with a little headbutt of his own. The two did not seem to have put much muscle into their motions, so they collided and then easily pushed away from each other. They both turned to Squirtle expectantly, as if their odd ritual was the most normal thing in the world.

“Uh...I'm Squirtle.”

Bein the Cubone took a step and jabbed his head forward again. Squirtle crouched low and rammed his own head to meet the attack, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for the worst. He now had proof that Pokémon were remarkably durable, and his own body did not seem to instinctively reject what he was making it do, but Squirtle still felt in some part of his mind the fear of an impending concussion. How could smashing two skulls together ever turn out okay?

His head thudded into the Cubone's. His momentum stopped abruptly, and he was knocked slightly backward. He had underestimated the enthusiasm that Pokémon put into their greeting, he realized, as he tried to keep his balance, but failed. Like a tree that groans and splinters at the base as the final ax-blow is dealt, Squirtle slowly tipped backwards from his heels and fell disgracefully to the ground.

A dull spike of pain lanced up his spine from his tail. The limb had been caught between the dirt and his shell. Fortunately, he managed to strangle his outcry into a sharp intake of breath.

He was back on his feet in front of the Cubone a moment later, but he could not meet the other Pokémon's eyes. Squirtle had failed the greeting, if that was even possible. He imagined that being unable to match the other Pokémon's attack during the ritual would be a cause for great shame. That raised a whole host of questions in his mind: what if an Onix was meeting a Butterfree? What if a Gastly was being headbutted by a Pokémon with a physical form? Yet more questions I cannot ask without sounding completely like an outsider, thought Squirtle.

“Sorry,” the Cubone said. He didn't sound it. “You weren't ready, were you?”

Interesting. Despite his unapologetic tone, Bein was offering a way for Squirtle to recover his dignity. He'd best make the most of the Cubone's gesture.

“Er, no, I wasn't! I was looking at your handiwork. It's not your fault though.” Squirtle cringed inwardly. His acting skills had room for development. Quil's gaze seemed downcast, avoiding the awkward exchange.

Bein turned back to his work. The last nail was hammered into place.

“Getting too dark to see. But this one should stand at least until it storms again,” he said, patting the wood fondly. “You two looking for a place to sleep through the night? I can show you if you'd like.”

Quil started. “You mean...like a spare burrow?”

Bein snorted in amusement. “More like a great, big, communal burrow. You haven't seen much outside the wilds.” It was not a question. “Swanna runs our lodge on the river. Tricky design to the architecture, it's worth seeing. You can sleep until morning there, no problem. Interested?”

Quil and Squirtle looked at each other. Quil's face was curious, eager. He appeared to easily trust the Cubone, and maybe he wanted to learn more about the lodge. Squirtle's face was calculating, a slight frown playing about his hard lips. A 'great, big, communal burrow' filled with strangers - no, strange Pokémon – was not where he wanted to spend the night. Yet what was the alternative? Sleeping under a tree somewhere?

Bein may have been deceiving them, however. What reason did he have to help two travelers? The brief assistance Squirtle had lent in the Cubone's repairs was hardly a service that mandated repayment. So was the Cubone actually being a kind and helpful soul? He was obviously not the warm and fuzzy type. Not like Quil, whom Squirtle had finally decided to trust those hours ago. And, he admitted, that turned out quite fortunately for Squirtle. Maybe Pokémon were, overall, benevolent creatures. Reluctantly, he gave Quil a slight nod.

“That'd be great, Bein!” Quil exclaimed. “You're a big help. How can we repay you?”

The Cubone led the way further into town. “Eh, that's not needed. You aren't today's first newcomers to Karprest, not at all.” He glanced at the Squirtle and Cyndaquil's intrigued expressions. “You will see what I mean. Today has been an unusual day.”

The sun fell behind the many hills toward Root Forest, silhouetting them so they looked like featureless sand dunes. Karprest did not grow intimidating or oppressive in the face of the coming night, but placid and protective. In fact, the more Squirtle walked through it, the more he felt the small-town mood of the place.

He caught pieces of conversation drifting out of windows. Some voices he heard were melodic and spirited, others a steady baritone, but they all sounded calm, at peace. Through one open doorway, Squirtle spotted an Azumarill making dramatic motions with its arms to a small audience of seated Pokémon, most of them Marill. As the Azumarill told the story, they gasped in horror one moment, but not ten seconds later laughed in glee.

Not all of the doors led to dwellings. Squirtle smelled a sweet, fruity scent as they passed the steps leading to one of the larger structures. Inside he caught a glimpse of colorful fruits on shelves and counter-tops before a Pokémon gently closed the door with a nudge of its head. Squirtle didn't recognize it. It was large, brown and green, and quadrupedal, with yellow banana-like growths hanging beneath a kindly face. The Pokémon tended the building, then, which must be a shop or grocery of some kind.

Underlying the peace there was an undercurrent of fear. Squirtle could see it in the way the village operated. The Azumarill was distracting young Pokémon with stories, not ushering them indoors from their play outside as dusk fell. Very few Pokémon were outside in the first place. Those that lingered outdoors bee-lined to their destination. And the signs of damage by the storm were all around, just as they were at the entrance to Karprest. Residents weren't fixing up their village. They were inside, leaving behind a tense stillness in the air.

A clearing marked the center of town, halfway to the river. Bein, Quil, and Squirtle heard voices raised in an argument before they reached the clearing. Quil and Squirtle looked to Bein, as he seemed unsurprised by the voices. The Cubone's eyes narrowed knowingly. He muttered a word under his breath, a name.

A Bibarel stood at the entrance to a typical house, one forepaw holding the door open. It looked like it was waiting to step inside and close the door, but a dark, feline Pokémon stood on the porch, engaging it in conversation. A Luxio. Other Pokémon in the nearby buildings watched the exchange from windows or through door cracks.

“And how does Karprest benefit from these refugees, exactly, Mayor Biba?” The Luxio drawled in a voice that was too loud for the Bibarel standing right next to him, but just loud enough to reach the other Pokémon in the clearing that were listening. “Perhaps you are privy to knowledge that I am not, due to your position.”

The Bibarel, a female, replied evenly. “Karprest has always been a stopover for travelers, Stolt, and a center of trade for Pokémon who live in the wilds nearby. Why would we deny them shelter, when tonight they need us most? Your family has lived in these parts for longer than almost anyone's, so why should I have to explain this to you?”

The Luxio, Stolt, sniffed. “By that very point, you should hold my opinion higher than anyone else's. I don't think we should be housing refugees and exposing Karprest to who knows what sorts of Pokémon, with no thought to the consequences. And for free, no less! We could wake up tomorrow to find Swanna's lodge ransacked, or worse!”

The Luxio's tail-tip lashed in time with his raised voice, while the Bibarel's flat tail restlessly tapped the wooden floorboards. Both were anxious, but definitely for different reasons. What those were, Squirtle couldn't say.

Their tails display their emotions for all to see, thought Squirtle. Can't they still them? He turned his head to study his own tail. The blue whorl bobbed placidly above the ground behind him, just as it always had. Maybe I don't have an emotional tail.

“Today was unique,” the Bibarel said. “No one could have predicted that terrible storm, and as such there were no laws or preparations to guide us in the chaos. I acted as best I could, and I stand by my decisions. I do not think anyone has found fault in the way the situation here was handled, except for you, Stolt.”

The Luxio's lips drew back, and his throat rumbled deeply. He was growling to the Bibarel's face!  
“I could run this place better than you. I understand what Karprest needs.”

Mayor Biba, the Bibarel, was unfazed. Being on the receiving end of a growl was normal, or this was not the first time the Luxio had growled at her. Maybe both.  
“I believe that despite the storm, today is a fine day for our town. Karprest chose me as Mayor, Stolt. It wasn't you who was chosen.”

The Luxio's growling died down. He glared at the Bibarel for a moment longer, then turned and stole down the house's steps. He was not startled by the onlookers. His eyes lingered on Squirtle, and on Quil, who shrank back from the intense gaze.

“Pah!” he exclaimed. With head held high, he strode out of the clearing and vanished from sight.

Gradually, the faces of the Pokémon half-eavesdropping and half-spectating withdrew from sight. Mayor Biba slapped her tail against the floorboards of her home, like a resolute nod of the head, and closed the door behind her.

“Let's go,” said Bein, as he started forward once more. Squirtle and Quil stepped forward hastily to keep pace.

“Hey Bein,” began Quil. “That Luxio. Stolt. He won't... He isn't-”

“No,” said Bein, predicting Quil's meaning. “Stolt's only attacks are his empty threats. Shouting matches between the Mayor and him are almost common. Although, they have been growing more common lately. Hm. Louder, too.”

Squirtle was also concerned with the ambition of Stolt the Luxio. “The onlookers in these houses weren't happy with the public debate. They don't want Stolt to take over leadership, right?”

Bein grunted an affirmative. “No, we don't. Mayor Biba does a good job. She says she'll do something, and then she gets it done. No need for delaying or over-planning the job. I like her style. And she's handled well enough all the issues Karprest has had over the years. At least the days I've been here. I don't think today was an exception, but we'll have to see what tomorrow brings.”

“I haven't seen how Mayor Biba runs Karprest,” said Quil, “but I'd bet my left foot that Karprest would be empty in a month if Stolt were Mayor!” He chuckled somewhat savagely as a thought struck him. “After all, he doesn't even want any more Pokémon coming in. What kind of 'mon says that? Pokémon should be able to travel and stay where they please! Don't you think?”

Bein nodded, shifting the bone he carried to the opposite shoulder. “Couldn't agree more, Quil. The open road and life in the wilds are nothing to sneeze at, but having a fine home, or at least civilization to return to should not be denied to anyone.” He spoke with finality, as if stating a widely-accepted fact.

“So, Bein,” asked Quil. “Which are you? Do you live here, or out there?” He gestured broadly with his snout, indicating the vastness beyond Karprest.

“Me and my Machoke buddy, we're builders. We get a request from a 'mon, or a group, and we build something for them. Problem is, once that's done, there's nothing left for us there. So we travel. We build houses, but we can never use them ourselves for very long. Heh.”

“Traveling's not...all that bad,” said Quil half-heartedly. “Right, Squirtle?”

Squirtle hesitated. “Yes, you're right. I'd have to keep at it to form a strong opinion though. I'm not exactly a globe-trotter.”

“Hm, globe-trotter. I like that,” Bein remarked.

The abrupt appearance of flames on the group's left caused Squirtle and Quil to stop in surprise. The flames came from a Growlithe's open mouth, igniting a brazier. The stream of flames ended as the Growlithe closed its mouth, but the gentle light from the brazier remained. Quil gasped quietly, a sound of awe.

The Growlithe spoke to them in a bright and chipper voice. “Hi you newcomers, sorry to startle you! Hi Bein! Got to go, always trying to break my record!”

Before any of the three could even open their mouths, the Growlithe was bounding out of the torchlight and onto the next unlit brazier.

“That's Brao,” explained Bein. “She lights up this place at night.”

Squirtle noticed that Quil was still looking back, following the Growlithe, with something like longing on his face. Quil finally faced forward and continued walking with Bein and Squirtle. “What about the Pokémon who wake up at nightfall, and like the dark?”

“I know a Houndour, hates the way Karprest is always lit up. But, he's in the minority. Just like the rest of the nocturnal Pokémon that live around here. It's just a fact of life in Karprest that they have to put up with. You don't have to worry about darkness creeping in on you, though, do you Quil?”

He looked pointedly at the flames on Quil's back. With the coming of night, the fire was doubly noticeable. Curiously, the flames did not seem to give off as much light as Squirtle would expect. Compared to the lit brazier now behind them, the spiky flames were rather feeble in their illumination. The flames themselves were vivid and bright, but the features around the Cyndaquil were shadowy. The fire glowed, more than shone.

“Nope, I don't,” agreed Quil. “Hey, is that the lodge?”

The three came to one of the largest wooden structures they had passed yet. The side facing them was broad, and two stories in its height. It had double doors big enough to accommodate larger Pokémon. Cattails and other riverbank plants grew thickly on either side of the lodge, waving in the light breeze, and the gurgles of gently flowing water indicated that they had reached the river. Yet the building seemed to stretch past the cattails and beyond, into the river.

Squirtle did not understand. “Bein, if we've reached the river, how far back can this lodge go?”

Bein's eyes creased slightly, suggesting a tiny smile behind his bony mask. He led Quil and Squirtle to the right, so they could see down along the side of the lodge, through the plants.

The building sloped downward at its back end, vanishing into the water. 

“Swanna's lodge accommodates land-dwellers,” Bein explained, “as well as Pokémon that live in water. This is one of my favorite works. The purpose of most construction I do around here is to escape the water. This one gives the water a big hug. You'll see, inside. But enough about the building. This is where I leave you. The day's been tough. Going to bed. Right now I'm living in that little house over there.” He pointed with his bone club at one of the smaller buildings, away from the river. “Maybe I'll see you tomorrow, eh?”

Quil nodded. “Oh, well, thanks for showing us here, Bein!”

Squirtle, quite relieved to see there was no departure ritual involving attacking one another, said “Yes, thank you Bein. See you tomorrow, maybe.”

“Sleep well,” the Cubone said, then made his way toward the house he had pointed out.

Squirtle and Quil turned toward the lodge's doors, as night settled around them. Glancing skyward, Squirtle spotted the moon far above them. Tonight it was a slim crescent, and a comforting reminder that although Squirtle found himself in outlandish circumstances, this was still the world he lived in previously.

The Cyndaquil sighed contentedly. “We made it to Karprest, Squirtle. Are you about ready to sleep for the night? You were sleeping right before we bumped into each other in Root Forest, right? So I'm not sure how tired you are.”

Squirtle folded his arms thoughtfully, a gesture he felt he often made in the past. His arms were now too short and too simple to sit the way they used to, but the position still worked.

Upon examination, he realized once again how energetic and tough his form as a Squirtle was. He felt like he could leap high into the air, or jog circles around Karprest. Aside from that latent energy to act, Squirtle sensed an undercurrent of fatigue. Though he may be able to perform physically just as well as when he had first woken, Squirtle felt a deeper tiredness beginning to grow, and a slight need to rest his mind.

“I could sleep, I think. And even if I can't, lying down in peace and quiet would do me well. I've got a lot to think about, that's all.”

Quil studied him. “Okay, Squirtle,” he said, concerned. “If you want to talk anything over, I'm all ears. I can stay awake!”

Squirtle smiled. “Thanks Quil. Let's go inside.”


	5. Motive

The heavy wooden door to the lodge had no conventional doorknob, but opened after Quil pushed against a certain panel of the wood. The doors in Karprest must have been designed for use by Pokémon having no hands with which to grip, thought Squirtle.

A cozy entrance room featuring a fireplace welcomed them within. Two canvas paintings with vivid, distinguished colors hung on the walls – one, a distant aerial view of Karprest on the banks of the meandering river, the other, a scene from the waterline of a little boat being tugged across the river via a rope from beneath the surface.

An elegant Swanna looked up from behind a counter, and greeted them warmly but softly. “Welcome to Karprest Lodge,” she said. “Are you storm refugees as well?”

Again, Quil let Squirtle start the conversation. “Hello, yes and no. We're travelers, and we were already on the move when the storm hit. But we came here to spend the night in safety, indoors. Bein, the Cubone, mentioned that there would be no charges. Is that true?”

“Yes, Bein spoke truly. Ordinarily, this lodge sees wanderers, river-folk, migrating family groups, trekkers of all sorts. If you can name it, then I've seen it. Most stop here to use our famous ferry. Karprest is a popular place to cross the Karp River for water-averse Pokémon, you see. But today...”

The Swanna folded her wings so they took on a shape similar to hands on hips. She shook her head slowly. “Today is different. I've seen more fear and turmoil today than I have in the last decade. The least I could do to help the local wilders is open up my lodge for all. So enjoy it while you can!” she added, with a wink.

Quil let out a little cheer at that, and Squirtle shared the sentiment. “Great, thanks! Where may we sleep, Swanna?”

Squirtle felt a spike of uncertainty after calling the Swanna by her species name. Was it rude to assume someone would be fine with being called by their species name? Referring to a unique individual as merely one of a larger group would be a good reason for offense to be taken. But the bird Pokémon made no visible reaction at all to the possible affront to her individuality. Squirtle let out a held breath.

“I'll show you presently, but first... Cyndaquil, if it is at all possible, might you be able to put out your flames? My other guests may be woken up, or bothered by the additional light.”

“Oh!” Quil squeaked. “Of course! I've only ever shared a burrow with my family. I didn't realize my flames could be an issue.” He spoke with some concentration evident in his voice, and the flames dwindled in a stuttering, uneven progression. Without a trace of smoke, the last flames abruptly disappeared, leaving only the four furless spots, now ruddy and sizzling with lingering heat.

The Swanna bowed her head graciously, her long neck bending forward. “Thank you, Cyndaquil. If you do need to release the flames, by all means, please do so. I only wish for a comfortable sleeping environment for my guests, if it is convenient for all to provide it. Now, follow me if you would!”

She led the pair down a short corridor in the direction of the river. A dim torch here and there helped to light the way in the absence of Quil's light.

Squirtle focused his vision on the shadowy patches of the corridor. He had learned that his hearing as a Squirtle was about the same as it had always been, but he did not yet know all of his other capabilities. To his dismay, he found that his vision in dim light was poor as it always was. The shadows remained shadows. Though, he knew he should be grateful; some Pokémon didn't even have eyes. And maybe Quil couldn't see as well as him, with only those little wrinkles.

The Swanna stopped at a large archway that opened up into a suitably large room. Whispering, she told them, “Here are the public accommodations. I apologize that they are, of course, quite crowded tonight. Feel free to sleep in as long as you need.” The Swanna returned to the entrance, recognizing the speechless state of her two newest guests.

Pokémon. So many Pokémon. Squirtle stood wide-eyed at both the diversity and number of Pokémon in the room. Oddish and a Gloom, Vulpix, Lotad and Lombre, Tranquill, Pidgey, and Swellow, and of course plenty of Rattata. A Raticate slumbered beneath a pile of the Rattata, and a Snivy was curled around a Seedot. The Flying-types were clustered together for the most part, as if the most bizarre flock ever formed had landed here for the night. Other than those, most of the Pokémon were Water or Grass-types, at least partially.

Only a handful of Pokémon were awake. Those that were whispered quietly amongst themselves, or relaxed with their eyes open. They paid the Squirtle and Cyndaquil no mind, following a few spare glances. The rest of the Pokémon, the sleeping ones, collectively emitted a cacophony of snores. There were high-pitched squeaks, dull rumbles, loud, soft, and everything in between. The sleeping Pokémon were packed together, draped over each or curled around each other in most cases. One Pokémon's tail was another's blanket. The larger Pokémon were pillows for the smaller ones.

Squirtle finally closed his mouth, and thought, What about personal space? These Pokémon don't know each other, they're just refugees from the wild. How can they sleep peacefully knowing they're surrounded by strangers?

Quil nudged his shell. “Look at that! It must connect to the river!”

Again, Squirtle was surprised by the sight. In a smaller room connected to the main one by another large archway, a pool of water shimmered in the gentle torchlight. The roof sloped downward until it was swallowed by the pool. What looked like fine nets stretched across half of the pool. The nets were situated in tiers, with some nets stretched taut at the surface of the pool where the water met the wooden floor, and more nets deeper below the surface. Each had a different set distance from the water's surface.

The nets were heavily occupied by sleeping Pokémon, just like the dry floor. Squirtle was surprised to see that over half of the occupants were Magikarp. Their mouths gaped open, as always, as they rested upon the nets. Some of them had chosen to sleep on a level that left their bodies halfway submerged, but Squirtle figured that there were likely more even deeper in the water where he could not see.

As he studied the water, guessing at what Water Pokémon might be sleeping there, Squirtle felt a new feeling bubble up from within his chest. A giddy excitement combined with a yearning to enter the water steadily rose the longer he watched. The dark water seemed so inviting, after all this time spent walking about on land. He belonged in the water, as a Squirtle, of course. He could easily slip in and feel the water all around him, embracing him, washing off the dust, supporting him as he relaxed.

“Where do you wanna lay down, Squirtle?” Quil whispered as he looked around the room. “How about next to that Furret? Or, did you want to take a spot in the water?”

Squirtle took a step backward, away from the pool. He found his mouth was open, taking quick and small breaths. No, he thought with passion. I would do what comes naturally as a Squirtle during a battle, sure. But I will not choose water over dry land because of these Squirtle instincts.

“No, not the water. I'll be sleeping on land, thanks.”

Quil was taken aback at Squirtle's rather intense tone of voice. “Squirtle? Is something wrong?”

Squirtle grimaced, and wondered if he should start a tally of how many times he had sounded kooky to Quil. At least the excuse he had manufactured was reasonable: he could not 'remember' how to behave like a Squirtle. “No, sorry, I'm fine.” He tried to breathe more naturally, with limited success. “Sure, by the Furret seems good.”

Quil nodded, and began inching his way into the crowd of sleeping Pokémon. Quil evidently had no reservations about surrounding himself with strangers. Likely he was quite tired, like the rest of the storm refugees, and ready to sleep a good while. Though there was enough room, his intended spot would leave the two in contact with at least a couple of other Pokémon. Pokémon who could be vicious if encountered in the wild. Pokémon whom they might have to fight in the coming days, when passing through their territory, or near their families. Quil and Squirtle may not have had any possessions to steal, but they were going to sleep next to these unknown Pokémon, entrust their safety to these Pokémon.

“Quil...wait.”

The Cyndaquil stopped between the Snivy and a Foongus, turning back to Squirtle.

“I...” His breaths were still coming light and fast as his mind raced. Even while his reason rebelled at leaving himself defenseless and asleep amid these strangers, he could feel no uneasiness coming from within. He experienced no natural reaction against following Quil and resting in a cluster of strangers. His bewildered state came from the conflict, the indecision. Thoughts or feelings? Reason or instinct?

Curse these instincts, if that's what they are! This day has been battle after battle between what I know in my head to be correct, and what this Squirtle feels so strongly inside. I just don't know what to feel, how to think! Should I resist it, and hold onto my reasoning? Do I surrender to my new feelings, and hope they don't get me into trouble?

Squirtle's eyes darted left and right as Quil watched, doubtless not understanding what could possibly be alarming in this scene of peace and safety.

I am a Pokémon now, so I should probably do what comes naturally to me, but there's no way I'm going to fall into the habit of not thinking. I can't forget about logic, or reasoning my way through situations. I can't! I won't be a mindless beast!

“Quil, I...” He swallowed. “I can't sleep here. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do, I can't... I don't know how to be myself anymore!” His cracked whisper became a low but urgent voice. A couple of the Pokémon near him rolled around in their sleep, becoming upset by the noise.

Overwhelmed, Squirtle escaped the situation. He retreated back down the corridor, ignoring the distressed whispers of Quil at his back. His light footfalls on the old wooden floorboards escalated to the pounding of a run. He pulled open the lodge's front door and burst out into the night. As the door swung shut, Squirtle could hear Quil floundering as he tried to explain to Swanna what had upset Squirtle so much. Quil didn't know what to say.

***

“Squirtle...” Quil began hesitantly. He stood a couple of steps away from Squirtle, outside of Swanna's lodge. “How can I help?”

Squirtle made no response. He remained lying on the ground, eyes shut tight. Every so often his arms and legs would twitch as he fought to keep them outside of his shell. He had quickly discovered that in his confusion and fear, he wanted to withdraw his head and limbs to hide within his shell. Succumbing to that need would be succumbing to his instincts, and Squirtle wasn't sure he wanted to travel any further down that road. So he lay on the dirt, limbs splayed out and quivering.

“Squirtle, I won't pretend that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I just want to know how I can help you.”

Squirtle said nothing. He could say nothing because he could explain nothing. The only way for the Cyndaquil to understand his inner turmoil would be for Squirtle to reveal his secret. However, Squirtle had no idea how his kind were viewed by Pokémon around here. The secret could anger, confuse, or scare Quil. Any one of those reactions could result in Quil leaving him. Any one of those reactions could leave Squirtle alone in the world. No, Squirtle could not afford to explain.

As Quil stood next to him, undoubtedly worrying over his distress, Squirtle felt profoundly alone.

“Please, Squirtle, just let me in!”

“I can't.” He opened his eyes to peer up at Quil. Tiny beads of water slid down his cheeks.

“Oh, Squirtle.” Quil drew back and pity blossomed on his face. “Why not? Why can't you tell me what's wrong?”

Squirtle closed his eyes again. “I...don't know what to say. I just can't. I'm sorry.”

The urges to withdraw into his shell had faded away, now that he was speaking to Quil. The conversation had to continue, not only to stop the urges, but to give some measure of understanding to Quil. Squirtle could not just brush this incident off and continue on like nothing had happened.

He drew in a shuddering breath, and got to his feet. “You could say I'm having problems dealing with these Pokémon, the world...everything!” He spread his arms wide. “Everything I see is new to me, because I can't remember anything. This is something I have to deal with on my own. I just need to relearn how the world works. I'll be sure to ask you questions, Quil, but other than that, I don't think there's any way you can help me." While it was not the whole truth, it was not a lie either.

Quil tilted his head thoughtfully. “I think I get it, but I still don't understand one thing. When we were in the lodge, and you were about to follow me to the spot by the sleeping Furret, why did you...” He made a nervous, tentative gesture with both forelimbs. “You know. Leave? What is upsetting about going to sleep?”

Squirtle turned away. “It's difficult to explain.” Guilt constricted his chest for being dishonest and misleading to Quil. He found he could not look Quil in the eyes.

And Quil seemed to realize that. Quil sighed in his little voice. “Okay Squirtle, fine. You don't have to tell me. But I want you to know that I want to help you however I can. I've got to keep you happy and healthy. And you've got to do the same for me, right?” A small smile settled on his face. “We're traveling partners now!”

Squirtle could not return the smile. He said, “I'll do my best Quil. I'm so sorry that I'm the one traveling with you. You don't deserve this. I'm no Pokémon.”

Quil replied hastily, clearly unaware of the true meaning and depth of Squirtle's remark. “Don't say that, Squirtle! Waking up with no memories wouldn't be easy for anyone! You know that! I'm glad I stumbled upon you and have the chance to help you figure out where you came from and where you're going. And, er, you get the honor of traveling in my presence, eh?”

Squirtle laughed, a single, hollow noise. “Right. But if you're dead-set on helping me out, then I'm sorry to tell you that I can't sleep in the lodge.” A decent excuse popped into his head. “Basically, there's too many Pokémon in there.”

“Oh, is that why? Well, I was excited to experience sleeping in a...what did Bein call it? A 'great, big, communal burrow'? But we've been inside and seen it, so that's good enough for me! Let's find a cozy spot outside, maybe by the roots of one of those trees we saw.” He stood tall and looked around at the trees in the darkness.

Sleep outside? Squirtle could not recall if he had ever slept outdoors, but he felt anxious considering it. He pictured Quil and himself settling down by a tree, surrounded by darkness and distant from the bright braziers of the city. The image was not comforting. Yet what alternative was there? Squirtle could not bring himself to rest in the lodge. The conflict he felt between mind and body in there was too intense for him to be able to stay, let alone sleep. So what could they do?

Squirtle's eyes slowly widened as an idea took root.

“Quil, I would prefer to not sleep outside either,” said Squirtle earnestly. “I know that seems to leave us with no options, but I just thought of one more place we may be able to go.”

***

The door swung smoothly and silently inwards, suggesting well-oiled hinges. A familiar Cubone stood in the darkness of the room, gazing blearily at the Squirtle and Cyndaquil on his doorstep.

“Eh? Squirtle and...Quil, right? What're you doing here?” He blinked hard twice. “What do you need?”

Frowning, Squirtle said, “I'm sorry Bein, we thought you may not have gone to bed yet. I suppose we were wrong,” he finished quietly.

Bein continued to stare at him.

Squirtle was sure to use his hands as much as possible to exaggerate the situation. “The lodge is amazing, like you said. Very comfortable. The thing is, it's really, really crowded. Quil and I would barely be able to squeeze into an empty space.” He swallowed nervously as he reached his request. “We thought since you were so kind in welcoming us and showing us to the lodge, that we may be able to spend the night here. Just one night. We'll be off of your hands in the morning. Would that be okay?

Bein continued staring, with one hand gripping the open door and the other on the door frame. Quil's fire, newly reignited, burned quietly where he stood beside Squirtle, who looked to Bein with polite and hopeful eyes. Well, eye-wrinkles. The flames were the only sound for a few seconds. The Cubone glanced at Quil once or twice, and seemed to be sizing him up, but reserved most of his attention for Squirtle for some reason.

Just as Squirtle's manners finally urged him to apologize and walk away, Bein said one, casual word:

“Sure.”

Squirtle smiled brightly. When he glanced to his left, Quil returned the look, seeming happy for him. The pair entered Bein's home as he stood aside to allow them in. The interior fell into almost total darkness when Bein closed the door. Were it not for the soft glow and hiss of Quil's fire, the room would be like a tomb.

“I don't keep candles or torches. Lucky you brought fire.” Bein grunted a single chuckle. “Make yourself comfortable and all that. I'm going back to bed. It's here.”

Cautiously, Squirtle followed the Cubone after allowing Quil to pass him for better illumination. The house was small, and Squirtle counted three rooms. Unlike the lodge, there was no floor, only dirt packed by the pounding of countless footsteps. A couple of rolled-up carpets rested vertically against a wall though. Squirtle also spotted what looked to be a huge rack of various tools. The rack covered most of the wall upon which it hung.

Bein led them to a bowl-shaped depression in the dirt. He started to clamber in, then seemed to remember something, as he turned to a wooden chest and hoisted out a blanket of natural greens and yellows. Bein tossed the blanket to them, which turned out to be made of the same grasses that lined the river. The texture was a tad rough, but kept heat in well enough.

Bein settled down in the bowl without further ado, and even covered himself partly in the loose dirt. “Don't like the blanket. Irritates my skin. No surprise there – I'm a Grounder. But the last inhabitants of the house used it and I don't like to throw away anything that works. G'night.”

Quil began to haul the blanket into the bowl and lay down, but Squirtle resisted, indicating with silent gesturing that the bowl was too small to avoid the blanket touching Bein. Quil made as if to leave the blanket behind, and gestured for Squirtle to join him in the bowl with Bein, but Squirtle felt that it would be rude to reject the Cubone's hospitality by leaving the blanket discarded at the edge. He frowned, pondering the dilemma that the Cubone had inadvertently placed them in. Quil seemed to understand too, but clearly wanted to get to sleep as soon as he could.

Tugging the blanket over to the wall away from the bowl, Quil silently suggested that they could sleep there. Squirtle nodded, and pulled the blanket over them after Quil had slowly extinguished his flames. The night was chilly, but Squirtle had noticed that temperature was far less important as a Pokémon. He certainly felt the cold, but the sensations did not much bother him. The heat from the braziers they passed in the city had likewise not much affected his comfort. Nonetheless, the blanket was still welcome, since a temperature neither cold nor hot was ultimately the most comfortable.

After some shifting around to settle in, Quil lay with his length from belly to chin resting on the ground. Squirtle could not remember ever seeing a Squirtle sleeping, so he tried out various positions. He quickly found that due to the shape and rigidity of his shell, the only two viable positions were on his belly and on his back. Laying on his back made him feel helpless and vulnerable, leaving only one option. Squirtle lay on his belly. He supposed he should be relieved that for the rest of his time as a Squirtle, however long that may be, he would not have to worry about the easiest position to fall asleep in, as he had no choice.

“You comfortable, Squirtle?” Quil asked quietly.

“Yes, I'm fine. Are you?”

“Oh, yeah. Have a good rest, okay?”

“Okay. Good night, Quil.”

“Good night, Squirtle!”

Squirtle's eyes were drawn to the only window in the house, which happened to be in that room. The night sky and its twinkling pinpoints of light were visible. At least in the portion of sky that Squirtle could see, the clouds of the storm had finally dispersed. That was good. The storm had negatively impacted many wilderness-dwelling Pokémon and caused a measure of unrest in Karprest. The storm was now a mere memory, thankfully.

Squirtle was not particularly tired. And this being his first night in this new world, he resigned himself to a long night of piecing together what he knew. The question of utmost importance being, of course: Who am I? Related to this were other questions: Why was I transformed into a Pokémon? Why did I lose my memories? Can I get them back? What should I do? Do I just live out this new life however I'd like, as if I were always this Squirtle?

That path of thought did not sit well with him. Being transformed into a Squirtle, one of the few facts he absolutely knew, was a monumental event. Such an event was no accident, or quirk of fate. It was significant. But why, how, where? Perhaps more importantly, who? If there was a person, being, force, or whatever responsible for his transformation, that entity would have all the facts. That entity would be able to answer all the questions he could ever think of in regards to his history and purpose.

How in the world was he going to find the source of his transformation? The only clue he could think of was his location when he awoke: the foot of a tall tree in the depths of a wood called Root Forest. The fact that the clearing was completely ordinary was no help at all to him. However, the timing was curious. He had awoken during the peak of an unprecedented thunderstorm. A storm that had swept the region with dry winds and powerful lightning bolts. That was no coincidence. Squirtle could assume that his transformation happened a short time before he was found by Quil, or he would have been bothered and awoken by some other Pokémon before long. Therefore his transformation and the storm were linked. They had to be.

If he could only remember what he had been doing! If he could trigger a single memory of his time before the storm, he would probably be able to determine much of who he was. Maybe he could even remember how and why he was turned into a Pokémon. Yet the memories were not on the tip of his metaphorical tongue. They were not just out of reach, begging for a trigger. Squirtle felt as if they were secured in his mind's depths under lock and key. Nothing he had hitherto experienced even suggested a flash of a specific memory from his past. Regardless, what he fundamentally needed was memory. A way to delve into his mind, and pluck out his memories, if they were there at all.

Squirtle spoke out quietly, unable to contain his excitement at his idea. “Quil! Oh, are you awake?”

“I'm awake, barely.”

“Hm, I thought you would be eager to sleep. You've been on the move all day, haven't you?”

Quil shifted slightly in the darkness. He sounded like he was now facing Squirtle. “Well, I had a feeling you would be up for quite a while. And I said I could stay awake if you wanted to talk. So what did you want to discuss, Squirtle?”

Squirtle was rendered speechless for a moment by Quil's unabashed selflessness. He had stayed awake through his weariness just in case Squirtle wanted to talk. Quil waited patiently in the silence. Then Squirtle jumped straight to the point to try to curtail his embarrassment. “Are there any Pokémon that can read minds? Maybe certain abilities or attacks that can see into a Pokémon's past, or observe their memories?”

“Good idea, I see why you would want to know! Let me think.” He lapsed into silence for a few seconds. “I bet Psychic Pokémon are what you're looking for. Ghosts, Shadows, and Psychics have the most, er, strange abilities.”

“Shadows?” asked Squirtle, though he had a strong suspicion.

“Oh, that means Pokémon with Dark abilities,” Quil replied. “Anyway, I used to hear stories about the crafty talents of Psychics. They can see the past and the future as easily as they can see what's right in front of them. They can lift you up, or freeze you in place instead, all with their mind! They can put words into your head – speak without opening their mouths! Or look at what dreams you're having as you sleep. One story even had a character that could teleport – disappear, and reappear somewhere far away!”

While parts of Quil's descriptions rang of truth, Squirtle was still skeptical. “Psychic Pokémon can do all of that? Don't get me wrong; it would set my mind at ease if they could, because then they would surely be able to help me, but those abilities sound way too powerful to be real.”

In the quiet room, Quil timidly replied, “I've never met a Psychic, I'll admit that. No Psychics lived in the Steppe near my family. But the stories I heard were never totally made up! The stories we shared were always based off real Pokémon, or things that actually happened. So I think that if any Pokémon can help you figure out what happened to you, it's the Psychics.”

Squirtle considered. Between Quil's stories and his own hidden memories' vague suggestions of what was truth, Squirtle had little solid knowledge at his disposal. He needed more.

“Are you in a rush to continue on your journey tomorrow, Quil? I'd like to spend some time asking around town about Psychics. Maybe one lives here who can help me, right?”

Quil spoke around a mouth-stretching yawn. “Yeah, there's a chance! Psychics are one of the more uncommon Types, though. I'm not in any big hurry to keep going, so let's take all the time you need.”

“Great. By the way, can you tell me more about your journey? Since you're not in a rush, I'm curious about where you're going and why.”

Quil shifted, his fur whispering along the blanket. When he spoke, his typically enthusiastic voice was melancholic. “I've been sent on 'The Pilgrimage', as my father calls it. A long journey far from our home in Steady Steppe, all the way to a volcano. Yes, a volcano,” he repeated, when Squirtle made a surprised noise. “According to the older 'mon in Steady Steppe, the locals call the volcano... Iyrodenin.”

“Eye – ro – den – in?”

“I think that's how you pronounce it. I always got it wrong. Anyway, every Cyndaquil travels to Iyrodenin to become stronger, and hopefully, to evolve into a Quilava. There's something special about...Iyrodenin that empowers Cyndaquil.” A note of bitterness entered his voice. “I don't know what it is, but my parents told me I will understand once I see it for myself. That this whole journey will make sense if I can just make it to Iyrodenin. So that's what I have to do.”

Squirtle thought he could understand why Quil was sour about the journey. To be told by your family that you had to leave your home must be difficult, but to set off alone towards lands you'd never seen, on top of that? Squirtle doubted he would have the courage to leave as Quil did.

“I suppose you weren't given a choice in the matter, were you?”

“No, no I wasn't. And this journey's not as easy as lighting a campfire. You've seen for yourself some of the reasons why, right Squirtle?” He sighed. “But my older brother did it, and my parents did it a long time ago. Every Cyndaquil goes. I've got no reason to complain. I just wish... ugh, never mind. I shouldn't complain.”

Squirtle urged him on. “You just wish what, Quil? I'm going with you, so I want to understand.”

Quil sighed again, softly. “I just wish there was no need for this journey. Why do we Cyndaquil have to go? Why the need to become stronger? Of course, I understand why it's important to evolve, and become more powerful, hone your attacks. You can't spend your whole life as a weak Cyndaquil, and then be able to care for and protect your family, or stand out in whatever you choose to do with your life. What I mean is there shouldn't have to be this huge journey. We should be able to live our lives, uninterrupted, and end up as we're supposed to be. It'd be easier for everyone that way, I think. Does that make sense?”

“That depends; do other Pokémon have journeys like yours?”

“I'm sure some do, yeah. I've heard of a couple of rituals that other Pokémon have, but they aren't journeys. I had a friend named Shawkers, and she was a Stunky. Her family said that one day, she would be able to pick a spot, make a circle a hundred steps away from the spot using that gross smell she carries, and no Pokémon would be bold enough to enter the circle for a full day. When that day arrived, she would be powerful enough to evolve into a Skuntank.”

Squirtle made a face, even though Quil wouldn't be able to see it in the darkness. What a foul trial that would be.

“You're right, Quil, this trial you have to go through does sound intense. Especially if you compare it to what your friend had to do – just spray a big circle and wait, basically.”

Quil whispered, “Painless, right?” by way of agreement.

“But my point is that you will end up stronger for all of this,” Squirtle continued. “From the impressions I'm receiving from my memory, Quilava and especially Typhlosion are some of the strongest Fire Pokémon around, correct?”

“Correct,” Quil murmured. There was no pride in his voice, only reluctance for allowing Squirtle to finish an argument that he did not want to hear.

“So, if you can make it to...Iyo...whatever, then you'll have the world at your fingertips!” Squirtle felt smug, confident that his words would cheer up Quil, if only a little bit.

“I don't have fingertips,” Quil replied humorlessly.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Quil was quiet. Squirtle took this to mean that he was thinking and would soon reply, according to the past few hours of conversation with the Cyndaquil. Squirtle turned his head to gaze through the window and out to the stars. And still, there was not a cloud in sight. Tomorrow was sure to be a beautiful day. He wondered how the direct sunlight would feel on his skin, his shell.

Smiling, he noted how his own mood had taken a turn for the jolly as a result of his positive thinking on Quil's behalf. Curious, how by focusing on another's pain and trying to shine a more hopeful light on it, he could forget his own worries, to the point of feeling content with his lot.

“I see your point, Squirtle,” Quil said. “Becoming more powerful and more confident in my abilities will be...pleasant. My life will probably be easier after this, too. But I still wish it didn't have to be this way. I don't see a reason why I should become more powerful. I'd be fine staying the way I am, the way I've been living up until now. I don't have grand aspirations that require me to be the biggest, baddest Quilava around.” Quil sighed, for the third time. “So this journey irks me. But hey, you're here with me now. That's one positive. I hope it gets better and better from here on.”

Squirtle laughed quietly, pleased that he had succeeded in getting Quil to look up. “That's the spirit, Quil!”

“Mm,” Quil hummed. Not content, but an improvement over before.

Squirtle wanted to continue the conversation in order to learn more about Quil and this world of Pokémon. He explored the mental list of questions and concerns he had been keeping track of on the way to Karprest, checking them off as he went. He knew he was forgetting at least a couple, but his understanding of the world around him had measurably improved since the afternoon when he had awoken. There were yet a few questions that Squirtle could recall and wanted to ask, but they were suspicious. No Pokémon would ask a question like 'Can all Pokémon talk?' That was a query only an outsider like himself would pose. Behaving like an alien by asking weird questions was the last thing Squirtle wanted to do in front of Quil. Perhaps later on, once he had earned more leeway, he could ask his questions, and once again bring up his supposed 'forgotten past as a Squirtle' as his excuse.

“Thanks, Squirtle,” Quil said softly, out of the blue. “For cheering me up.”

Squirtle felt his cheeks warming as embarrassment flushed through him, just as it had in the forest. Quil's gratitude made him feel a unique mix of guilt and bashfulness. All he'd done was speak half-empty words of consolation, he didn't deserve Quil's thanks! This time, however, he felt like his reaction was not as dramatic. Was he simply becoming more used to Quil, or maybe more accustomed to gratitude?

“Ah, it's nothing. I should be thanking you for staying awake and talking to me. This is, after all, the first night I can remember experiencing. I'm very glad I wasn't alone in a ditch somewhere for it.”

Quil made no sound, but Squirtle imagined he was smiling in that Cyndaquil way of his. Squirtle returned the smile.

“Good night, Quil.”

* * *

Sleep eluded Squirtle. Inevitably, he tossed and turned, but concluded that on his belly, the front of his shell, was truly the only position he would ever be able to sleep in. On one hand, not being able to sleep allowed him some quality thinking time. On the other hand, his questions had no answers. He was lost. What point was there in pondering and puzzling when the solutions would never come?

What are my current goals? Having something to strive for was important. That was clear in his mind. But was that the Squirtle talking, or his past self? Mentally flinching, he ignored that last thought to worry about sometime in the future. After a minute of pondering, he solidified his two step plan.

Step One: Remember who you were and what happened to you.

Step Two: Use that information to create new goals.

There, simple. The hard part would be completing Step One. As they had discussed, Squirtle would spend tomorrow trying to find someone in Karprest who had Psychic capabilities, or at least someone who knew a Pokémon with Psychic capabilities. Maybe he would be lucky and learn about some famous Psychic who helped people like him. No, that was his imagination concocting fanciful scenarios that would never occur.

After gathering information, though, what was Squirtle to do? Was he just going to play companion to Quil, a traveling Cyndaquil who had no capacity to solve Squirtle's troubles? Squirtle had already concluded that he was here for a significant reason. People didn't turn into Pokémon every day. Squirtle imagined he had an excuse, no, a duty to himself to devote his efforts to discovering who he was and his purpose in being here, if there was one.

And who knew? It could be that the duty was not to himself, but to someone else – Pokémon or not. He could be in this situation in order to help someone. Or to help everyone else – to save the world! Nope, there was the fanciful imagination again. A positive sign: his mind must be falling asleep.

Therefore, leaving Quil, if the situation demanded, was the best course of action. Squirtle frowned. Leaving Quil would be...difficult. Oddly enough, he found that the logical course of action was one that upset him. It upset his Pokémon aspect, actually. But that was part of him, wasn't it? He was a Pokémon now, or becoming one. Learning to be one. His situation was confusing. The rational and cool-headed decision would always be the best one, but his highest moment thus far had been when he had forgotten himself and behaved like a feral Squirtle. 'Given into his instincts,' as Quil would say. The conflict was one that merited much more thought.

At last, Squirtle felt scattered enough to accept the embrace of sleep. Still, questions bounced around in his head. Why am I here? What was the reason? Without the answer, he felt purposeless. Nothing he was doing mattered if it didn't match up with the reason for his presence here. Where did I come from? Was it somewhere beautiful and natural, or a metropolis of technology and progress? Did I have a family, a home? Who was I? Someone who worked with Pokémon, or had studied them. He knew enough factual knowledge about Pokémon to be sure that in his previous life he had associated with the creatures somehow. Why am I here? A reason, he needed a reason. Somewhere, there was a reason. Was the storm a coincidence? No, it could not have been. They all said how brutal the storm was, so it was no typical weather pattern. How long do Pokémon live? They must live long enough to see a fair share of storms. Then no, it wasn't a coincidence. He entered this world during this unprecedented storm.

Should I stick with Quil? He would like to, he knew. He would like to. But sometimes you walk a certain path when you'd rather be elsewhere. They both knew that. What will the volcano be like? Huge, massive, monstrous. Like the silhouette of the biggest mountain ever, but it could only be seen through a thick, smoky haze that comes from its peak. It would probably have a red tinge from the lava and fire. Why am I here? Was he important? Or was it an accident?

Will Bein be friendly in the morning? They had put him in a tough situation by showing up at his door after nightfall. Why am I here? There was no answer. An empty space that needed to be filled.

Why am I here? The question gnawed at his insides, bringing pain.

Why...am I...here?

Why...why...

His furrowed brow relaxed only once sleep had taken him.


	6. Power

Squirtle's face felt warm, particularly his closed eyelids. They squeezed tighter shut as his brow knitted, trying to escape the heat. It was no use. Squirtle cracked his eyes open.

The sun greeted him boldly. Bright morning light streamed through the window and right into his eyes. He moaned and dragged himself by finger and claw out from under the warmed blanket, and out of the light's rays. Once back in the gentle shade, he sighed in relief.

Squirtle thought for a moment, then realized he shouldn't have to worry about the light bothering him. With a flick of mental effort, he blocked out the window with darkness. Rather, he tried to, but nothing happened. Oh well, my dark powers aren't working yet. Have to try a different approach.

Next, Squirtle tried to impose his will on the wall in front of his nose, urging it to open up and allow him to see the river he knew to be beyond. The wall did nothing of the sort. Stubbornly, it continued to block his vision. But I'm opening the wall. Right...now! The wall remained.

As a last ditch effort, he closed his eyes and tried to feel himself levitate off of the dirt ground. He imagined his weight decreasing until he was light as a feather, and then pictured himself floating about as he felt he might in a dream. Yet the firm pressure of the ground against his belly scutes and five limbs continually reminded him that he could not levitate. So far, none of his dream powers were working.

Gah, who am I kidding? This isn't a dream. I'm still a Pokémon, a Squirtle. And I still can't remember anything from before yesterday. Squirtle gave up the charade, and stood. As much as he had believed he was dreaming, his surroundings were as real as they could be. The blue-black claws in front of his eyes, the feeling of his swirly tail behind him, and the lingering warmth of the sunlight were each too real to be a dream. I can't believe I'm a Pokémon. It's too bizarre. How do you live like this? What do I do with myself? I've had to relearn walking and eating already. What will I learn today?

Quiet footsteps came from one of the other rooms in Bein's small abode. The Cubone himself came into sight, reaching for the front door. He glanced over his shoulder, and met Squirtle's eyes.

“Hm, you're awake. Your Cyndaquil pal woke up about an hour ago, elected to head into town and let you sleep. I'm going to make my rounds now, see that everything's fixed up and strong. Find me before you leave town, alright?”

Squirtle nodded, and said, “Thanks for letting us stay here Bein. We really appreciate it.” He studied his voice for the first time after he spoke. It was...gurgly? Squeaky? Although not sure how to describe it, he figured his voice sounded like a Squirtle's should. Maybe he'd had the complete opposite sort of voice a couple of days ago, but that was irrelevant now.

The Cubone nodded in reply to his polite words. “Some food on the table,” he mentioned, and left before Squirtle could say anything more.

After Bein left him to his own devices, Squirtle padded through the rooms, scratching at a few irritated patches of skin. For whatever reason, his skin was itchy, like he was allergic to something in the air or something he'd touched. Mercifully, the itches faded away after his attention was diverted by the food choices.

On a boring wooden table, in a boring wooden bowl, there were carrots, radishes, berries, greens in plenty, and a couple of colorful vegetables to which Squirtle couldn't put a name. He pieced together a basic salad. As his hunger swelled to the surface, he felt more appreciative of Bein than ever. Squirtle had to pay him back somehow before leaving Karprest with Quil. The salad tasted fresh enough, and Squirtle loved every crunch of it. Was it tasty because his mouth was a Squirtle's mouth, or was it tasty because he had always loved these vegetables?

The day hasn't started until I'm pondering why I enjoy salad, has it?

Was he really going to go through with this? Wake up each day and make an effort to learn how to be a Pokémon? What if one day he woke up back in the life he used to live? All of this would be for nothing. All the effort, all the Pokémon he met, everything he learned about battling, Pokémon culture, the surrounding lands - it would all be for naught.

He examined Bein's current home, now that the daylight allowed him to see. To his surprise, the huge rack of tools on one of the walls was not at all what it appeared to be in the darkness of the prior night. They were bones. About ten bones of various shapes and, it seemed, functions. Each rested vertically in the rack, ready to be plucked off and put to good use. There were more than a couple that were typical humerus-like bones that Squirtle imagined the average Cubone would wield. But one bone was long, slender, and terminating in a fine tip. The adjacent bone was thick, more yellowed, with each end having two bulbous protuberances. Did Bein use that one as a hammer? The strangest bone was one that actually hooked around at one end. What sort of Pokémon had a bone like that in its body? The variety of bones was confusing, but in a thought-provoking and thrilling sort of way.

Yes, he decided. He would put his best foot forward each day and give this world his best shot. No evidence hinted at a return to his previous life any time soon. He could have agreed to this transformation, for all he knew, and wouldn't want to betray his past self or any benevolent force that had brought about the change. Besides, he thought as he admired the bone collection, all I've experienced so far has been intriguing. And there's plenty more to see.

Squirtle pulled open the front door and strode out into the sun. As he watched, a pair of Rattata refugees departed from Swanna's lodge, presumably to head back to where they lived. Squirtle turned slowly in a circle, wondering where to start his search for a Psychic Pokémon. The overgrowth by the river's edge caught his attention, and he found himself walking toward the water he knew to lie beyond.

Through the sedge and cattails, Squirtle could see the Karp river covered in a morning fog. Off to the left and off to the right, Squirtle could see the riverbanks curving away from shore, into the river. The town must be situated at a natural inlet of the river, in a small bay. The opposite riverbank was invisible because of the thin fog, but from his vantage point of the previous day, Squirtle knew it to be a very wide river.

Squirtle gazed into the water just beyond his feet. Aquatic plants grew from the mud beneath the surface, their stem and leaf structures a startling green. A Magikarp rested amid the growth, gills gently opening and closing. Another one, small and therefore probably young, nibbled at the rich plant life with one eye on Squirtle.

The bubbling excitement rose within his chest once again as he gazed at the inviting waters. Squirtle were Water-types. The excitement had to be a response to encountering his element, and knowing instinctually that he would thrive in it. Yet Squirtle shook his head. There are more important tasks I have to complete before I can play around in the water. Besides, maybe there are powerful wild-dwelling Pokémon in there that would not take kindly to a Squirtle like me swimming around.

He noticed a patch of the riverbank clear of the thick plants, downstream a couple of minutes' walk away. As he approached, the area was revealed to be a Pokémon-constructed dock. A single craft was moored to the bobbing end of the wooden pier: a large, empty boat that resembled a raft. The scene matched the one pictured on the wall of Swanna's lobby. Looking more closely, Squirtle saw a large, finely-woven net floating on the water's surface in front of the boat. Squirtle could only guess at its purpose. As to how the boat was propelled, he was again at a loss, as no mast or pedals were present, and of course there was no machinery.

Where the pier met the riverbank, a pavilion shaded some Pokémon who stood casually or sat at tables and benches chatting. A sizable brass bell hung from one of the pavilion's posts, ready to be rung by a hanging cord. Squirtle could see a Wooper, a Mudkip, a Marshtomp, and a Palpitoad on land. A Tympole floated lazily by the pier, shooting small bubbles from its mouth at a Surskit who stood lightly on the water's surface. The Surskit returned bubbles of its own which burst forcefully when colliding with the Tympole's. The two Pokémon seemed to be competing to see whose stream of bubbles was more powerful. The Marshtomp crouched at the water's edge, speaking to a couple of Magikarp in the river, and laughed heartily at something one of the Magikarp said.

The Pokémon seemed civil enough, so Squirtle approached them, formulating his questions. The Palpitoad noticed, and met Squirtle just outside the pavilion.

“Hey there,” the Palpitoad greeted him with a rich, throaty tone. “I take it you don't need to use our ferry?” he asked jokingly as he made a show of eying Squirtle up and down. His companions grinned at the Palpitoad's humor.

“No thanks,” said Squirtle. “I'm here because I'm a traveler, and new to Karprest. I'm looking for a Pokémon who has Psychic capabilities. Would any of you happen to know any Psychic techniques?” He doubted they did, but it was worth a shot.

The Palpitoad confirmed his suspicions by glancing around at the other Pokémon, each of which shook their heads. “I'm afraid not, my Squirtle friend. Not a speck of Psychic talent among us. Although there was a Drowzee I used to know by the name of Mahow who lived here. Bit of a recluse, only spoke to him a couple of times. I doubt he lives here anymore, now that I think about it.”

Squirtle's face fell. “You don't think any other Psychic Pokémon live in Karprest?”

The Palpitoad gaze wandered upward as he thought. The Wooper under the pavilion spoke up with a squeak. “I've made it a point to meet all the Pokémon in this town who live here, and no one is a Psychic. Sorry to tell you, Squirtle! You never know, though, maybe someone's learned some Psychic moves!”

“What do you need a Psychic for anyway?” asked the Palpitoad.

“Oh, I'm having some problems with my memory.” Squirtle wished he had bitten his tongue, upon seeing the reactions of pity and surprise on their faces. Poor health must be a serious issue among Pokémon. “So I'm looking for a Psychic who may know why,” he finished.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” the Palpitoad said, and he looked it too. “Maybe you'll have more luck in a different region. Not many Psychic-types pass by here, you know. Works out well since you're traveling, eh?”

Squirtle nodded, feeling glum. “Thanks anyway, everyone. I'll find one eventually.” He was about to turn away, but his eyes lingered on the waters beneath the tranquil fog cover. “By the way, are there any Pokémon living in the river that are, er, dangerous?”

“That depends,” said the Palpitoad with a twinkle in his eye. “How strong are your fighting skills, Squirtle?”

The rest of the dock Pokémon were enlivened by the question, and looked eager for Squirtle's answer. Before he could give one, the Marshtomp called over to him, “D'you want to have a bout, as a warm-up? Tell me you want to have a bout, yeah?”

Squirtle put his hands up as if to ward off everyone's interest, and shook his head vehemently. “No, no thanks, I'm not interested--” 

Squirtle's words were cut off by a high-pitched blast of sound from the center of town. It sounded electrical in nature, like an arc of electricity from a Voltorb that singes the air. It lasted less than a half second, a mere instant, but Squirtle could hear the blast echoing between the buildings before vanishing as quickly as it had come. The volume and piercing nature of the sound bespoke immense power.

The Palpitoad spoke haltingly. “That sounded powerful. Don't know any 'mon in Karprest who could pull off an Electric move that loud.” Some of the other ferry attendants began to speak to each other in quiet voices.

Squirtle was curious. Powerful Pokémon were whom he wanted to meet, even if they were intimidating. He figured the more powerful, the more experienced. And the more experienced, the more able they would be to help him. “I'm going to see what's happening over there. Have a good day, Palpitoad,” he said, and made for the noise's source along a well-trod path clear of growth or buildings.

The Palpitoad started to follow, slowly at first but then picking up the pace to a normal walk. “Actually, I'll come too. Wanna know by the waters of Kyogre what that zap was.”

Squirtle nodded and kept moving. A flurry of movement followed the Palpitoad's declaration as most of the Water Pokémon beneath and near the pavilion followed. As they walked around buildings and beneath the occasional wayward tree, Squirtle found himself to be a leaf in a stream; Pokémon after Pokémon emerged from homes, shops, even out of the ground in the case of a Diglett, and moved toward the town center. Squirtle was caught up in the flow. A muttering of voices great and small surrounded him as Squirtle felt the first inklings of anxiety.

The procession ended in a cramped plot of Karprest. The old wooden buildings had been constructed too closely together here. Stolt, the argumentative Luxio from the previous day, again stood at the center of attention. However, unlike the previous day, his posture was unsure. He shifted his weight from paw to paw. His dismayed features did not match up to the confidence he exhibited earlier.

The Luxio's eyes stared at a fallen Meowth and did not look away. He did not seem to notice the observers. The Meowth was difficult to recognize, as their kind kept their fur smooth and well-groomed, to a fault. But this Meowth's fur stood up straight or at jagged angles. The small of its back was blackened from its usual white. The Meowth lay face-down. Its only movements were the subtle rise and fall of its breathing.

“I cannot understand this...this energy. It's never been close to this vibrant before,” Stolt was murmuring to himself, still unable to tear his gaze away from the unconscious Meowth. “How can this be...?” He broke out of his reverie, noticing the gathering Karprest residents talking worriedly among themselves.

“No, no! I did not...this is not how it appears, trust me,” said Stolt.

“You'd better start explaining then, Stolt!” came the voice of Mayor Biba, the Bibarel. Squirtle watched as she strode to the forefront of the loose crowd that was still gathering. She looked at the Luxio expectantly, with a dark expression.

“Let me try to explain,” said Stolt. He visually composed himself, standing taller and more sure-footed before the eyes of Mayor Biba and the crowd.

“I was beginning my mid-morning run, as I often do when I have something on my mind. And, as I usually do, I Charged myself. Ah, I see some confusion. Charging is a term we Electrics have that refers to a bioelectric technique used to temporarily increase our electrical output. The Charge has no effect on my runs, but I find it helps motivate me to an appropriate state of mind. But when I Charged...”

His eyes glazed over momentarily. “I...I felt energized like never before. Electrical power surged through me. I bounded forward, heading for the path up to Root Forest. In my haste, I brushed against Keema here.” He looked down at the Meowth, then away hurriedly.

“And I...discharged some of my energy into her. It was so close to the surface, almost to the point of fur-static. The sensation is difficult to explain to non-Electrics. Suffice it to say that I practically had no ability to hold back the discharge once my fur had brushed against her back.”

The Marshtomp from the dock, now in the crowd near Squirtle, spoke up in a skeptical tone. “And it zapped her that good, huh? I've never seen a static shock like you're talkin' about do that much damage. We could hear it from the ferry!”

Many Pokémon in the crowd murmured their agreement. Stolt did not shrink back from their disbelief, but raised his chin in righteous defiance. “What you see was an accidental discharge, there was nothing intentional about it. I must admit that the shock generated was, well, immense. Prodigious, really. But it was an accident. I have nothing against poor Keema here. I just can't understand why. I still feel it, too. The power...how is this so?” The Luxio's voice quieted and he seemed deep in thought.

The Pokémon of the crowd began to talk among themselves in earnest. Mayor Biba frowned and her snout quirked up on one side as she mulled over Stolt's words. Squirtle, during the lull, scanned all of the Pokémon around him for Quil's face. He had a hunch that a confrontation was coming, and he wanted to be near Quil, just in case the upcoming argument escalated beyond words. With two personalities like Stolt's and Biba's, Squirtle doubted calm words would settle the matter.

There! Quil watched from the opposite side of the loose circle, near the front. He must have been near the discharge when it had happened, and had been kept near the center by newcomers filing in from behind. Squirtle reckoned that Quil looked anxious, too, though it was still difficult for him to pick up on the Cyndaquil's body language. Squirtle maneuvered through the outskirts of the crowd before nosing back in toward where he had seen Quil. 

Squirtle laid a hand on Quil's small shoulder as he arrived, letting Quil know he was there. “Hey,” he muttered. The motion drew Stolt's eye. An unpleasant expression of malice formed on his face.

“Oh, Squirtle, it's you,” said Quil. “Shh, the Mayor's stepping forward.”

Mayor Biba spoke up loudly so all could hear. “Stolt, an unprovoked attack, especially one of this caliber,” She gestured to the fallen Meowth, Keema, “mandates legal action by our two marshals. Now, none of us know if you what say is true, but we'll soon get to the bottom of this. Are there any 'mon present who witnessed the discharge?”

“That won't be necessary, Biba,” said Stolt in a low, dangerous voice before any witnesses could step forward. “I think I understand, to a small degree, what happened to me, and to Keema. Let me test my theory. You won't believe me no matter what I say, so I'll deal with you in a moment.”

More than a couple of gasps from the Pokémon in the crowd followed Stolt's blatantly disrespectful pronouncement. And in that startled pause, Stolt acted. His eyes returned to Quil and Squirtle. He crouched slightly as an electric hum emanated from his body. Tiny arcs of electricity jumped between tufts of fur on his black mane. His tail pointed upward and stiffened, ready to balance any movement he made.

Oh, no.

That was all Squirtle had time to think before the Luxio dashed forward, and with a small roar, pounced at him and Quil. Squirtle stumbled to the side to get away. A yellow flash filled the area and a blast of electrical noise reverberated in the cramped air. It was the same noise Squirtle had heard at the dock. Here the sound was louder and more resonant, but no less piercing.

Quil was hurled away by the attack. The Pokémon in his path were knocked aside easily, scattered as if struck by a boulder. Quil tumbled across the dirt and a light plume of dust marked his path. After a distance of thirty or forty paces, almost an Onix's length away, his body met the wall of some Pokémon's house. With a wooden THUNK, he came to rest. The short fur on his forehead, just above the snout, was blackened from the electrical surge.

Mouth agape, Squirtle stared dumbly at Quil's little form. He was not moving. His flames had vanished. Whether Squirtle was deafened from the thunderous blast, or the crowd was dead silent, Squirtle did not know.

I'm a coward. I watched as Stolt blasted Quil. And I did nothing.

Squirtle turned slowly to face Stolt. The Luxio's eyes were also wide, as if he had not expected what he himself had done. Then a smile spread across his face. A smug, pompous, and immensely pleased smile. Stolt faced the crowd, making no attempt to change his expression. He eyed the Pokémon, reveling in the horrified expressions.

Squirtle felt emotions within him rising from the shadow of shock. Anger was present, yes, but it was easily overpowered. Fear.

I need to run. I need to run now. No, I need to talk him down. Do something to stop him from hurting anyone else. No, idiot. I need to run.

“Yes...yes I thought so,” Stolt said to the crowd in a strong voice, though he sounded muffled after the volume of the electrical blast. “My natural abilities have increased drastically, as you all just saw. How, and why, I do not know. But the implications are obvious, are they not, my good residents of Karprest?”

Quil was still not moving. One of the Pokémon who had been knocked aside, a Lombre, groaned in pain where he lay. The others were getting up. Some backed away from the scene, looking frightened out of their skins with the display of power. Others stood as Squirtle did, watching the Luxio in silent fear. 

“Another demonstration is in order, I believe. Then we can discuss the matter of my...punishment.” He laughed cruelly, before setting his eyes on Squirtle. “This Squirtle's an interloper just like the Cyndaquil.”

Squirtle's stomach leaped to his throat. He felt nauseous. What could he do against the Luxio? He was helpless. He would meet the same fate as Quil.

Stolt crouched slightly, as before, and built up his electricity. This time, there was not a calculating and curious expression on his face, but that malicious grin.

Quil, a Fire-type, had been hurtled backwards and knocked out, or worse, by Stolt's electrical attack. Squirtle was struck by a horrifying thought as he looked at the arcs of electricity jumping in the fur of the Luxio's mane. Luxio was using an Electric attack.

And Squirtle was a Water-type.

Squirtle screamed, letting loose the terror he felt inside. Spinning away from the Luxio, he pumped his legs and sprinted away as fast as he could.

Stolt roared as he leaped into the air.

The electrical humming grew louder and louder as Stolt descended upon him. The world ignited into a blinding whiteness, and thunder exploded in Squirtle's head, shattering his consciousness.


	7. Move

Squirtle was surprised to wake up.

His entire body ached with a fierce soreness, of course, but that was nothing like what he had expected. Squirtle had expected to feel nothing, because he had expected to die. Quil's body had knocked evolved Pokémon aside like pebbles due to the energy of Stolt the Luxio's attack. That same attack was then used on Squirtle, a Water-type. It was bound to be twice as strong – more than just effective, to say the least. From what he had witnessed in his brief travels, Squirtle had learned that Pokemon were resilient, but not this resilient.

Then again, his body felt demolished. He lay on his belly, all five limbs splayed out on the ground, seemingly lifeless. His slow breathing brought an uncomfortable tightness to his chest. When he clenched his fingers and toes, the muscles of his arms and legs complained of a soreness that felt like over-use. That's electricity for you, thought Squirtle, before wondering at his light mood.

Maybe this is what you feel like after a near-death experience. Care-free, relieved. I suppose I'll be more appreciative of living now that I've come so close to meeting my end. But did I really? Can Pokémon even die from another's attacks?

Again, he worked his claws, trying to wring the ache from his muscles. His claws made a small scratching noise that he barely heard. The ground felt grainy like old wood. Now he could feel the wooden boards beneath his skin, as the world returned to his awareness bit by bit. A feeling like the stroke of a dry paintbrush touched his cheek. His eyelids twitched, and creaked open.

His body lay on the porch of one of Karprest's many similar buildings. One of the wooden boards on the wall of the structure was cracked almost in half, and there was a gap in the railings of the porch's balustrade. Some object must have rocketed through the railings to create the gap, hit the wall hard, and fallen to where he was.

Oh. I'm the object. Squirtle was glad he had a shell for the ordeal.

Again, a touch on his cheek, followed by soft sounds that made little sense to Squirtle. Slowly, he sat up, squeezing his eyes closed against the pain. He pressed his head between his hands, trying to focus. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Quil beside him.

“Quil!” he tried to shout jubilantly, but it came out weakly. His Cyndaquil friend smiled in that particular way of his, and Squirtle was so thankful to be able to see it once more.

“I'm really glad to see you too, Squirtle,” whispered Quil. “I only woke up myself a few minutes ago, but I found you quickly enough. We have to get moving though. Stolt is preoccupied talking to some other 'mon, but he'll notice us again soon if we don't Rapidash it out of here.” He kept looking over his shoulder, toward the group of Pokémon still gathered at the same place.

Squirtle felt so relieved that he couldn't hold in a pained chuckle at Quil's use of 'Rapidash', joke or not. “I understand. Karprest is probably quite dangerous right now, if Stolt is usurping power. You're on a journey anyway, though, so it follows that we keep on moving.”

“We're on a journey,” whispered Quil, and grinned fiercely.

Squirtle got to his feet, finally feeling lucid, with the addition of full-body soreness. Like all of the buildings save the lodge that the pair had encountered in Karprest, this one was built on foundations that held it above the ground in order to prevent water damage during flood-time. They turned to the porch stairs to descend, but someone was in the way. A Nidorino was coming up the stairs, eyes flicking between Quil and Squirtle. The pair froze at the top. Quil even reflexively curled up into a fiery ball.

The Nidorino came to a halt on the last step, and spoke in a deep voice. “Listen up, you two. Stolt has ordered you removed from Karprest, and I'm the one in charge of seeing it done. So let's get moving.”

Squirtle and Quil glanced at each other, with frowns on their faces. Quil uncurled and spoke first. He must have noticed that Squirtle was engrossed in his thoughts. He addressed the Nidorino in a quiet and polite manner.

“Okay, we'll go Nidorino, but I don't understand why you're taking orders from a 'mon like him. Isn't Biba the Bibarel the one who was elected to lead Karprest?”

The Nidorino snorted. “Yeah, 'course she is. She's always done a fine job, but everything's different now. Look over there Cyndaquil, and tell me what you see.” He jerked his pointed horn at the gathering, where Stolt was leading a discussion of Pokémon with hunched shoulders and bowed heads.

“I see Stolt speaking with some 'mon over where...where he used his electricity on me. On you too, right Squirtle?” Squirtle nodded, sharing the same fear evident in Quil's voice.

“Yeah?” said the Nidorino. “Tell me about the Pokémon you see.”

“Er...there's a Flaaffy, an Elekid, a Mightyena, a couple of Electrike, a Nuzleaf, a Nidoqueen. Wow, most of those Pokémon look tough! I think that's a Slowbro behind the Nidoqueen, and...maybe another--”

“Right, I get the point,” the Nidorino interrupted. “Do you understand why I'm taking orders from Stolt yet?” Squirtle and Quil made room as the Nidorino took the last step and settled down on his belly. Even so, he still looked down slightly on Quil and Squirtle.

Quil shook his head uncertainly, but Squirtle cut in. “The strongest Pokémon in Karprest are all over there, talking with Stolt. He's recruited them, hasn't he? He's threatening them with his new power, isn't he?”

The Nidorino let a heavy sigh blow past his hard lips. “Now you're gettin' it.”

Squirtle searched the scene from the safety of the shadowed porch. Why were those unevolved Electric Pokémon there among the evolved and seasoned-looking Pokémon? Stolt seemed to be treating them all as equals as he confidently spoke to them - equals all beneath him. Yet those Electrike, the Elekid, it didn't make sense. Unless they were far more powerful than they appeared.

“Oh, while you two were out, we discovered something.” He paused significantly. Squirtle and Quil turned their attention to him. But before he could continue, Squirtle interrupted him.

“All the Electrics are more powerful. Not just Stolt. Right?”

Nidorino's surprised look was almost comical, but it did not compare to Quil's amazement. Quil even gasped softly.

“That's right,” said the Nidorino slowly. “How'd you know that? It was Electric against Water back there – you were knocked right out.”

Squirtle tried to shrug, and once again, found he could not. “The little Electric-types next to the assortment of big, evolved Pokémon; there had to be a reason.”

“Heh, all you Alakazam out there, watch out,” the Nidorino remarked. It took a couple of seconds for Squirtle to understand his meaning, but then he smiled momentarily at the compliment. Shooting a glance at Quil, Squirtle saw that his mouth was open absentmindedly. Probably, he was thinking about the implications of what Squirtle had said about the other Electric-types. Squirtle himself did not want to open that can of worms right then and there.

The Nidorino seemed content to lounge about and talk, even though he'd approached the pair to intimidate them and escort them out of Karprest. His attentive eyes and position blocking the stairs were the only indicators that they weren't having a friendly chat. Squirtle dared to ask a slightly more personal question.

“Um, Mister Nidorino, sir,” he began.

The Nidorino was confused. “What? What did you call me?”

Slapping his hand to his face, Squirtle cursed himself again for his slip-ups of the tongue. “Nothing, it's just a way of showing respect where I'm from. What I mean is, Nidorino, why don't you leave Karprest? Or why don't you band together with some of the other Pokémon still loyal to Biba?”

“Yeah,” added Quil, tentatively. “You could set things right! Although, it probably wouldn't be easy.”

The Nidorino shook his head. “Stolt isn't just a bully, you two. You're...interlopers, as Stolt said. You wouldn't understand. You've only just arrived in Karprest.” He turned his head and watched Stolt. Now the Luxio was pointing to and fro with his paws, and making other commanding gestures. A couple more of the gathered Pokémon trotted off to do his bidding. One of them saluted.

“Stolt isn't pushing Pokémon around because he can. He finally has the ability to enforce some changes around here. Changes he's always wanted to see. I can't blame the 'mon. His family has lived here for generations; you couldn't find a 'mon more loyal to Karprest. He's already mentioned some of the bigger changes he's planning – expanding the ferry service to other towns in the area, making Karprest a hub of activity.”

He returned his gaze to Squirtle and Quil. “But he wants everyone unnecessary gone, right now.”

With that, he got to his feet. The pair took a step back. Squirtle felt the cold tingling of fear begin in his belly. The Nidorino said, gruffly, “So let's get moving, unless you want some poison to make the process smoother.”

Squirtle and Quil shook their heads quickly, and followed the Nidorino down the steps. Question time was over.

Squirtle rolled his arms and shook his legs as they walked, working out the ache that made him feel weak and unsteady. He glanced skyward, and noted the late morning sun on his left. The Nidorino was taking them south, parallel to the Karp river which ran north to south. With no geographical knowledge and no map to reference, Squirtle had no idea what lay ahead. He wondered how well Quil knew the land.

Some measure of fear compelled Squirtle to turn and walk backwards, so that he could keep his eyes on Stolt until they were safely away. He didn't want his back turned against a Pokémon that had knocked him unconscious with a single move, and who still despised his presence. The group around Stolt was gone, likely carrying out his orders. The Luxio himself, alone now, relaxed his posture. He looked around until his eyes fell on someone some distance away, past some bushes and a shop. Squirtle followed his gaze, and saw the Meowth that had sparked the whole confrontation. Keema.

Now conscious, she was speaking privately with a Chikorita and a Skitty. The Chikorita was chattering non-stop, shaking her head at the blackened fur on Keema's back. Squirtle couldn't hear what they were saying at such a distance. Keema looked almost as angry as the Chikorita. Squirtle returned his eyes to Stolt, and was surprised to see an expression of chagrin come over the Luxio. He seemed genuinely regretful.

So Stolt's reaction to injuring the Meowth was not an act. He was not entirely cold and calculating as Squirtle had presumed. Perhaps the transition of power was not all bad, if Stolt cared deeply about Karprest's denizens.

What am I saying? He blasted Quil and I just because we don't live here. And he did it with glee, almost as an experiment. Nothing could be worse than him taking charge.

Stolt noticed Squirtle's thoughtful stare at last, just before the Nidorino turned Quil and Squirtle around a corner. Stolt's guilty expression vanished, but no malice or anger replaced it. He returned Squirtle's look as if he were looking at a Weedle that he had plucked out of his apple. Something no longer worthy of his concern. Then the Luxio was out of sight. Squirtle faced his Nidorino escort once more, troubled.

Quil quietly walked to Squirtle's side, nudging him and pointing with his snout at a small house's window.

Inside, an Electabuzz was yelling and pacing the room, as a few other Pokémon looked on. These were not cringing in fear, though. These Pokémon were nodding, and adding shouts of their own, fueling the riotous mood. Squirtle caught pieces of the shouting when they grew particularly loud.

“...and he won't, he can't without everyone's cooperation...”  
“...not the only Electric 'round here, he'll soon...”  
“Tomorrow!”  
“No, today! Tonight!”

The shouting continued. Some of the Pokémon in the house quieted when they noticed the three outside passing by, but the rest paid them no heed.

“Maybe Stolt won't last long,” whispered Quil, carefully keeping his voice down, as he eyed the Nidorino's long ears.

Squirtle nodded, whispering back, “Who knows what'll happen in the next few days? Everything's changed now.”

The three continued to pass by similar small groups of Karprest Pokémon. The mood in the town was tense, not relaxed like the previous day. No doubt everyone was considering the future, and what to do about Stolt's new rule.

“Nidorino, where did Stolt ask you to take any, er, unwanted Pokémon?” Squirtle asked.

“Southern edge of town. You can move on to wherever you like after that. I don't care, Stolt doesn't care. If you're not wilders, and you're looking for the next town, just keep the Karp on your left. You'll end up at Vyre.”

“Oh, I've heard about Vyre!” Quil exclaimed. “They say there's more of Vyre in the treetops than on the ground. A town in the trees!”

The Nidorino grunted, amused by Quil's enthusiasm. “Yeah, that's right. A paradise for 'mon like Grovyle and Mankey, or Flyers, so I've heard. I'd take solid ground any day.”

“Hmm...Vyre...” Quil droned. Then, he stopped short for a moment, his mouth a little 'O' of surprise. He started walking again right away, and the Nidorino didn't seem to notice. Squirtle, walking right next to him, did notice. He shot the Cyndaquil a questioning glance.

“We can't go to Vyre,” Quil whispered. “That's the wrong way! I just remembered, we have to take the ferry. My father directed me to Karprest because of the ferry.” His whisper deepened, almost mockingly, as he imitated his father. “It's the safest way for Flames like us to get across the Karp River.”

Squirtle frowned, gauging the Nidorino's ability to pursue them if they ran. His legs were stout, tipped with dull claws, but his thick hide and rather heavy-set body probably kept him among the slower class of Pokémon. Then again, Squirtle had not seen him in action. And if Stolt had sought him out as muscle, the Nidorino was surely no slouch.

Was Squirtle actually considering a grand escape? He felt a cool chill run down his spine as he thought about being caught and subjected to Stolt's anger. He had only just become a Squirtle, and had little reason to believe he could outrun Nidorino. Plus he was still sore. Perhaps Quil could – he was swift back in Root Forest.

Squirtle decided he was not going to leave Quil. He owed Quil. For saving him, for teaching him, for showing trust and kindness to him. And if Squirtle was not going to stick with Quil, where would he go? He could not stay in Karprest, and he was loathe to travel alone. Convincing Quil to abandon the course outlined for him was out of the question, because it sounded like he really needed this ferry. Water must be terrifying to a Fire-type, a Flame, as Quil's father called them. Squirtle's face took on a determined cast, as it had just before the canyon when he resolved to pay Quil back. Squirtle was going to help Quil get to the ferry across the Karp river.

“Okay Quil,” Squirtle whispered, as he followed the Nidorino. The spaces between the buildings were becoming wider; they were almost out of Karprest. He could see a well-trodden dirt path leading through the flat, swampy lands along the river. “Do you have a plan?”

“Not exactly,” Quil murmured. “We could just slip away behind one of the houses while he thinks we're still following him. I don't think we should battle him, at any rate.”

“Sounds good. How about this one coming up, with the barrels by the door?”

“Whew, okay Squirtle. Are you ready?”

“Oh, let me ask him something first. Maybe the sound of his own voice will cover up our escape.”

Squirtle prepared a sufficiently thought-provoking question, then raised his voice. “Nidorino, what do you think is the future of Karprest? Where is all of this going?” He then stopped following to silently creep off the path with Quil, careful to not walk into the Cyndaquil's fiery back.

The Nidorino began a response about the positive nature of Stolt's probable goals, but he didn't seem too sure about it. Squirtle hoped that uncertainty would be enough to keep the Nidorino talking to his imagined audience. In the meantime, Squirtle and Quil were taking tiny and stealthy steps that soon escalated into a frenzied run.

“We've got to put some distance between us and the Nidorino, Quil!”

“Okay, but then what? Sneak around and try to get to the ferry? Will it even take us? I hope Stolt or his underlings aren't there!”

Squirtle grimaced, seeing Quil had a point. If only there was time to concoct a proper plan. They could lay low for a while, and figure out how to successfully board the ferry. “Quil, I think we should-”

He stopped his dash at the sound of a distant bell's toll, ringing out over the roofs of Karprest. The warm, metallic sound filled the air. The sound kindled a dread in Squirtle that he could not understand. A bell, a bell, where had he seen a bell?

The pavilion. Under the pavilion, by the dock. The ferry!

“The ferry! Quil, the ferry! The bell is for the ferry!”

Quil turned, urgently running back to Squirtle. “There's no time! What are you talking about? What does a bell matter? We have to get away from Nidorino – any second he's going to realize we're gone!”

Squirtle waved his hands frantically. “No, the bell is for the ferry! It must mean that it's leaving. Quil, the ferry is leaving! Now!”

Quil stiffened with a gasp.

A roar of frustration came from where they had left the Nidorino.

And the bell finished tolling.

As one, Quil and Squirtle started running through the nearly empty alleys and clearings of Karprest, toward the river. Squirtle took the lead, trying to aim them toward the dock he had visited. The bell's resonant sound was difficult to trace, and he had no line of sight to the river. Every which way was wooden buildings, with a bush here, a windblown garden there, a hushed council in this house, an angry conversation in that one. Squirtle had seen none of this part of Karprest before. He hoped they would come upon the river soon, and be able to follow it north to the dock. Yet they had no time to waste. They needed to travel in a straight line to get to the ferry as swiftly as possible.

That line of thought sparked an idea in Squirtle's head, as he looked to the roofs made of tightly-woven grasses supported beneath by sloped wooden beams. “Quil, do you see anywhere we can get roof access? A ladder, or a cluster of boxes?”

“I don't get it, why not just jump?” Quil shouted as they kept moving.

“I...” Squirtle thought about their flight out of Root Forest. He recalled his endurance pushing through the tall grass, his speed beneath the Butterfree's descending spore cloud, and the strength of his final jump. Though he hadn't crested the top, looking back, it was quite a jump he'd made. Squirtle still wasn't thinking like a Squirtle, it seemed.

“Right, my mistake, here goes!” Since it was five times higher than Squirtle from the ground, he estimated the shortest nearby building was nine feet tall at the roof's eaves.

I can't jump that high, I'm not a Blaziken, thought Squirtle, but he nonetheless aimed for the roof and pushed off against the ground.

His leg muscles contracted powerfully, and the roof lurched toward him. His legs propelled him further than he thought possible. As his hands reached the eave, he pulled on the edge with his short fingers, grunting with the effort. The extra pull sent him upward, allowing him to land with two feet on the roof's grassy weave. Quil landed next to him a moment later, casually. Squirtle glanced backward. He had really just jumped five times his height onto a roof.

Being a Pokémon isn't half bad! Squirtle felt the same way he had after the battle in the canyon on the way to Karprest, but to a lesser degree. A thrill rose within his chest. A fierce smile threatened to burst out onto his face. His fingers twitched, wanting to clench in anticipation of more.

However, these feelings were new to him. He could not recall any history of loving exercise, physical feats, or fighting. Thus, the feelings must be new. They were either a result of a reshaped personality, or inherent to his new Squirtle form. Of course, he suspected the latter, since Pokémon were combative and primal creatures, and would be prone to such feelings. Quil at his side seemed relatively calm, but perhaps he was well used to the thrill.

“There, right Squirtle?” Quil pointed with a forelimb. A gap in the riverside's plant life marked the way to the dock and the ferry. Squirtle could not see if the ferry was still moored.

There would be time enough later to ruminate about the physical prowess and experience of being a Pokémon. Squirtle cleared his mind, and nodded. “Good spot, let's get there!”

Before they could drop down and head in the right direction, a pounding of feet approached from the side of the building away from the river. A Nuzleaf and an Elekid were coming their way, but they did not seem to notice the little Squirtle and Cyndaquil high up on the roof.

“Those two are from Stolt's meeting,” Quil said. At the same time, Squirtle caught the words the Nuzleaf and Elekid were saying to each other.

“Mayor Biba won't be under watch, though. Stolt'll hate us!” The Elekid was complaining in an annoying, squeaky voice.

“No, this'll get us in his favor, kid,” the Nuzleaf returned haughtily. “Stolt said the ferry is not to be used. We're going to make sure it isn't, so hurry up!”

“We have to get to the ferry-” started Squirtle.

“-before they do!” finished Quil, followed by an amused chuckle.

Together, they dropped off the roof's edge, and joined the race. The Nuzleaf and Elekid, surprised by their appearance, hastily said some quiet words to each other. Then they gave chase.

“Stop, Squirtle and Cyndaquil! Stop running!” the Nuzleaf called out. He was about fifteen steps behind, but his taller form and longer strides threatened to overtake them eventually. The Elekid was speedy herself since her strides were so quick, as if motorized by a battery. The race would be a close thing.

Onward the four ran, two seeking an escape, two seeking a capture. Quil and Squirtle made a sharp turn around a bench next to a large table, and the dock was in sight. Framed by the riverside plants, the sole pier extended into the small bay. Beyond, the waters of the Karp river flowed gently southward. The morning fog had all burned up.

Squirtle squinted, and could just make out the Palpitoad he had spoken to that morning throwing a rope from the raft-like ferry onto the pier using his flat tail. The ferry was casting off. He told Quil what he saw.

“Another trial to overcome, huh,” the Quil said bitterly. “Squirtle, you know most Fire-types can't swim right? I have to board that ferry.”

“We'll make it. It's only just starting to pull away,” Squirtle said between labored breaths. And it did look like they would. The ferry was slowly drifting away from the pier, ready to set out away from shore. He was surprised at the vehemence in Quil's voice, but Quil was on fire, after all. Any Cyndaquil would probably despise water. Riding a ferry across the water would be a scary prospect. A necessary evil for his journey to be successful, though.

The Nuzleaf and Elekid continued to give chase, now only ten steps behind. If Squirtle or Quil stopped, they'd be overtaken faster than they could turn around and surrender properly. Occasionally the Nuzleaf shouted some officious phrases about Stolt's edicts and the good of Karprest, but Squirtle and Quil paid them no mind.

Now they were passing the plants, passing the pavilion with its bell, and about to run down some steps and out onto the pier. Then, the ferry began to move. Instead of gently drifting away from the pier and out into the bay, it heaved forward with purpose. A wake formed behind the ferry immediately, and the placid water in front of the ferry became rippled and disturbed from the sudden activity beneath the surface. Something must have been tugging the ferry.

By they time they reached the end of the pier in a few seconds, the ferry would certainly be too far away to make a jump.

“Krow's luck!” Quil cursed. “It's leaving! What can we do!?”

Squirtle said nothing, but racked his brains furiously for a solution. Quil could not swim, but he needed to get on the ferry. But the ferry had already left, and they could not reach it. They had no gear to help, of course. There were no other vessels at the pier, or on the banks. Was there some move that Quil knew to help him? Squirtle had no idea. Nor did he know what he could do, if anything, other than a Tackle. What could he do?

Now they were on the pier, with their pursuers not far behind. As they neared the free end of the wooden pier, their pounding feet set the pier shaking. Squirtle himself would no doubt be fine in the water, but how would that do Quil any good?

Quil came to a stop as they ran out of pier to traverse, but Squirtle did not slow.

“Quil, jump on my shell! It's the only way!” Squirtle said, already airborne and plummeting into the inviting blue waters. He surfaced immediately, and heard Quil's response.

“No, I can't, I can't! No way!” He hopped on one leg, then the other, flailing his forelimbs and violently shaking his head. Quil looked half out of his mind.

“Please Quil, they'll take us to Stolt. It's the only way!” Squirtle repeated. Quil continued to stubbornly shake his head from the edge of the pier. The Nuzleaf and Elekid reached them at last, both panting like they were.

The Nuzleaf stood on the side of the pier and looked over Squirtle to the ferry. He repeatedly slashed the air in front of him with his forearms and mitten-like hands. Leaves rapidly sprouted from his appendages, then detached to spin away like throwing stars. Squirtle did not look to see if the leaves struck the ferry or its occupants, but he heard squelching sounds, as of leaves being struck by globs of mud.

“I'll take the Cyndaquil,” said the Elekid eagerly. “If the shock doesn't get him, the Paralysis will!” She closed her eyes, and electricity began jumping between the two prongs above her head. The hum grew louder and louder.

“Quil!” Squirtle shouted desperately. “I'll catch you!” I really hope, he added in his head.

The Elekid launched her attack. A bright yellow bolt of electricity with a white core shot high into the air, then back down faster than any eye could follow. But Quil had jumped. The bolt struck the end of the pier where Quil had been standing a second before. The piercing sound of crackling electricity filled the air, echoing around in the bay, just like when Stolt had accidentally electrified Keema the Meowth.

The end of the pier exploded from the attack. Wooden boards were blasted into the air. A circle of light briefly lit the air at the impact site, with yellow arcs of electricity jumping about. Then it was gone. The falling wooden boards made splashes, and loud THUNK noises wherever they struck the pier.

Squirtle had no time to be impressed with the small Elekid's immense power. He pulled at the water with his right hand and right foot, getting underneath Quil just in time. Squirtle bobbed slightly with the impact. Immediately, Quil grasped the edges of Squirtle's shell with all four of his limbs, hugging him for dear life.

“Don't drop me, don't drop me, don't drop me,” Quil shouted over and over. The fire of his back was a roaring blaze, larger and brighter than Squirtle had ever seen it.

“I won't, believe me,” said Squirtle confidently, his mouth just above the waterline.

The water felt amazing. Squirtle's whole body felt energized and delighted to be swimming. He never wanted to walk around on dry land ever again. The water was like a tight embrace that hugged every inch of him, giving him comfort and vigor but asking for nothing in return. His body's soreness was forgotten. A zesty vitality had taken its place.

Swimming was a simple matter in the water's arms. He let it take him where he wanted to go. Squirtle's arms and legs began moving in a technique much like breaststroke, but he didn't worry about what he was doing. His tail began pushing the water back and forth behind him like the rudder of a boat, but he paid it no mind.

Like the beautiful waters around him, Squirtle could think clearly and calmly. He could see the Nuzleaf preparing for another volley of stiff leaves as the Elekid recovered from her devastating Electric attack. This time, the Nuzleaf was intent on them, since the attack on the ferry must have been unsuccessful, or the ferry was now too far away.

Squirtle felt a twinge of discomfort as he pictured the leaves flying toward him. Leaves are Grass-type, he realized. If they hit me, I'm done for. But Quil will be able to take them.

“Quil, listen. I know this is terrifying right now. But you have to stop the leaves from the Nuzleaf, or I don't know what's going to happen to the S.S. Squirtle.”

Quil gripped the edges of his shell all the tighter in response. He had stopped repeating 'Don't drop me,' which was a good sign. Still, he made no verbal response.

The Nuzleaf raised his arms and began the arm chopping motions once again. Leaves shot forth, cutting through the distance to Squirtle and Quil. Squirtle felt an instinctual urge to submerge, but hardened himself to it. Quil was not going underwater no matter what, because Squirtle imagined that would be worse than any attack that might come from the Nuzleaf or even the Elekid.

“Here it comes!” warned Squirtle.

Quil yelled wordlessly, squeezing Squirtle's shell. A wave of heat rolled over Squirtle from the flames of Quil's back. The blaze not only shielded Quil's entire body from the leaves, but it also extended outward enough to protect the bottom of Squirtle's shell. A second later, Squirtle could hear leaves burning up in Quil's fire. A smell like a campfire reached Squirtle's nostrils.

Still, the fire did not completely protect them. Grunts punctuated Quil's continual yell each time a leaf struck him through the fire. The leaves burned, but the fire did not stop them all from impacting his back before they burned up.

A sudden pain pierced one spot on Squirtle's tail. His cry was smothered as he ducked his head under the water's surface. He looked past his belly scutes to see a leaf sinking beneath his tail, its speed and stiffness lost after delivering its strike.

Squirtle examined the sensation he felt, this being his first significant experience of pain from a Pokémon's attack. Really, though, it was not too bad. He felt pain, but it was not an intense or even distracting pain. More worrying was the weakness that spread from the impact site. Squirtle did not see a cut from his angle, but the leaf must have made one. His whole body felt a bit more weary from the damage the leaf had inflicted. Nonetheless he was still perfectly able to swim.

Squirtle looked behind him to make sure they were clear. The Nuzleaf was shaking his fist at them, but the Elekid had come to the new edge of the ravaged pier. She was motionless, probably about to begin charging one final long-range attack.

Not even the water's comfort could shield Squirtle from the rise of fear. If struck, he would be knocked out instantly. It would be Stolt's terrifying attack all over again. There was nowhere to run, especially with a heavy load on his back. Squirtle and Quil were wide open to attack, like a lone lightning rod in a flat plain. They needed cover, but all around was water. How could water help?

I have to admit, I am on fire with these ideas today. I hope they keep paying off. 

“Quil, unless you have a better plan, you need to use a Fire technique on the water around us. Can you do that? Quickly!”

“No. I can't.”

Squirtle groaned. What was a Fire-type with no Fire moves? Of course, he was not one to talk. “It's the only idea I have, Quil, you have to try! It's the only way!”

“You keep saying that,” said Quil through clenched teeth. Nevertheless he gingerly released his hold on Squirtle, and slowly rotated until he was facing the pier. Squirtle felt vibrations through his shell back. Quil was trembling.

Bright electricity was arcing between the Elekid's prongs. The Nuzleaf stepped backwards away. The Elekid concentrated her gaze on them.

“It's up to you, Quil, but I believe you can do it. You haven't let us down yet.”

Quil drew in a shaky breath. He exhaled hard not with the sound of a breath but the gentle roar of fire, as when someone breathes into the base of a campfire to give it oxygen. Bright red motes of light flurried outward from his mouth. Embers from a fire. They were not many in count, and the embers did not seem very dangerous to the touch. But they had promise, like modest candle-flames that could grow to a roaring fire if they only had fuel.

As each ember settled onto the water's surface, it vanished in an eruption of steam and the hiss of a fire doused by water. In seconds, Quil and Squirtle were immersed in steamy air. And just as quickly, Quil was clutching Squirtle's shell again with all four limbs.

Maybe not the best idea, Squirtle immediately thought. Now I can't see the ferry to follow it. I should--

His thought process was stopped abruptly. The steam lit up for a split second in the eerie yellow of electricity. Squirtle felt electrical current flowing through his whole body. His paddling limbs stiffened, then relaxed. Completely.


	8. Teach

“Squirtle, Squirtle, Squirtle!” Quil's panicked yelling filled his head.

Squirtle's eyelids fluttered. He felt dazed, and weary. For a moment, staying awake was difficult. Relaxing his body and letting the river carry him would have been fantastic. Quil made his presence very well known, however, and Squirtle was not allowed to drift off in either sense of the word.

“Swim, swim!” Quil shouted as he knocked on Squirtle's shell. With great reluctance, Squirtle swam onward with slow strokes. His limp tail floated behind him.

The thick steam around the pair grew nebulous as it evaporated. It had served its purpose of providing visual cover for a few precious seconds. Without it, the Electric attack may have been a direct hit. The ferry ahead became visible, as did the Elekid and Nuzleaf far behind.

“Don't you dare return!” the Nuzleaf shouted from the faraway pier. Squirtle recognized that he should have found that amusing, but could not determine why. Quil also seemed to find no humor in the Nuzleaf's threat, but clutched Squirtle's shell back firmly, shivering every now and then.

At first, Squirtle fancied he was imagining it, but it became clear that the ferry was slowing down. It stopped, as if gracefully waiting for him to swim to it. Squirtle felt quite grateful, since he doubted he could have caught up in his exhausted state.

The vessel was essentially a large, flat, wooden raft, with protective wooden sides three or four feet tall. As Squirtle neared the raft, he could feel Quil tensing up and rising to his legs. Without any vocal warning, he pushed off hard and leaped up and into the raft. Squirtle was thrust underwater. Contrary to feeling angry and alarmed, Squirtle felt even more at peace. With the burden of Quil's safety off of his mind, and the weight of Quil's body removed from his back, Squirtle could have sank to the riverbed and been asleep before he touched down. He was light as a feather. The water, now surrounding his entire body, felt wonderful. His eyes drifted closed and a contented smile spread across his face.

The water beneath him suddenly pushed against his left arm, flipping him over to his back. Then his shell back felt the pressure and he was thrust toward the sparkling surface. The river ejected him with a splash, and Squirtle found himself falling feet-first toward the ferry's deck. Surprised faces looked up at him before he landed and fell weakly to his hands. A second later he was on his belly, catching his breath. The ferry jerked into motion once more.

Squirtle was allowed to rest for a moment, but then a round, squishy object was pressed against his cheek.

“Eat this, Squirtle, you'll feel better.” The voice's rich and deep tone was familiar to him. Enough to trust for the time being.

Squinting at the object, it appeared to be a blue berry with faint dimples. Summoning the willpower to take a bite was challenging, but at last he bit into the berry.

The taste was sweeter than a blend of fresh fruit juices. There was no tang, spice, or competing flavors. A simple taste, but powerful because of its straightforward nature. As he took another bite of the berry, the deck of the ferry no longer seemed so welcoming. Likewise, his eyelids no longer wanted to stay closed. Squirtle felt his stamina returning to him, like a flower unfurling and stretching its petals to bloom in the warmth of sunlight.

“Wow! What is this berry?” He stood, looking around the ferry for the first time.

The deck was painted white at one point, but was now chipped and peeling in places from age. The only things on board were Pokémon, and various bags and boxes on the sides beneath the gunwales. Ropes led from the bow of the raft-ship to beneath the surface, where presumably something pulled the ferry. The opposite bank of the Karp river was visible, and even the pale silhouettes of mountains far beyond. The scenery seemed to rock gently because of the raft's movement.

Squirtle looked for Quil, and spied him tightly curled up alone in the exact center of the ferry. His fire had receded to its usual size – a reassuring sign. The ball of fur and flame that was Quil did not seem likely to uncurl any time soon though.

Also on board were a Sunflora and a Gloom. Both Pokémon were watching him curiously. He had made a grand entrance, after all. They bobbed their heads in greeting, which Squirtle returned. Standing right next to him was a familiar face. The Palpitoad he had spoken to about finding a Psychic-type was grinning down at him.

“It's an Oran, of course! We keep some food supplies on board in case of a passenger feeling nauseous, or if a strong wilder manages to get past Keel and Jib and hit the harness crew. That sort of thing.” The Palpitoad laughed easily. “Why, what'd you think it was?”

“Oh, I don't know. I never learned my berries very well. But thank you, it was delicious. And strangely energizing.”

The Palpitoad laughed again, saying, “Why, that's their specialty, Squirtle! 'Need restorin', eat an Oran.' Never heard that one? 'Muscles actin' contrary, you ought to grab a Cheri.' No? Well, I don't like that last one anyway.”

Squirtle was eager to change the topic. “From what I understand, Stolt didn't want the ferry to be used, but you and your crew set off anyway?”

The Palitoad's brow furrowed. “Tch, this here ferry's been around longer than that Luxio's been alive. It's the whole reason Karprest was built at all, you know. There's nothing Stolt, or even Mayor Biba could say or decree that would stop us from running the ferry.”

Squirtle nodded, respecting their dedication.

“Of course,” the Palpitoad continued, “we're not going back any time soon. I'm no fool. Our home port's crazier than a pair of Aipom right now. It'd be asking for a bucket of trouble if we headed back there. Speaking of which, I owe you my thanks. And not just mine, but our whole crew's.”

He gestured to Quil with his white tail. “If you and your Cyndaquil friend hadn't distracted Bizz, she could have hit us with that monster Thunder Shock.”

“The Elekid?” Squirtle asked.

“Aye, that one. I doubt I'd've been able to get some of my mud in the air in time to block the bolt, or if it would have even done a thing. Didn't even do much against the Razor Leaf. I've gotta practice more.” He broke eye contact with Squirtle, and seemed ill at ease. “So, thanks.”

Squirtle smiled. He was glad that he managed to help not only Quil, but the whole crew of the Karprest ferry, too. “No problem. We just wanted to board the ferry, so we're glad we have a ferry to board.”

The Palpitoad chuckled. “Right you are, Squirtle. Oh, and smart tactic, throwing up that steam. Your friend's got a good head for battling, especially seeing as how he looked terrified to be so close to water.”

Squirtle's smile faltered. The idea was his, not Quil's. But what did it matter? It was Quil that protected them from most of the attacks, in the end.

“Yes, Quil's quite the Cyndaquil. He's always been a help on our travels.”

“Glad to hear it. Call me Tiller, eh? It's what my crew calls me. What's your name?”

“Just Squirtle,” he replied, and took a ready stance. I can do this, he thought. It's about time I did the introduction ritual correctly. No falling down, no getting surprised.

As expected, Tiller leaned the top part of his body forward, having no head to speak of. Squirtle prepared to headbutt the hemispheric bulge above Tiller's face, the obvious choice for making a strike. As he jumped to hit his target, the Tiller leaned back and thrust his belly outward. Squirtle was knocked airborne, surprise written over his features, but he still managed to land on two feet.

Tiller thought his fake-out to be hilarious. He was laughing exuberantly, but squeezed out some words. “Oh, Squirtle, I'm sorry, but it's too funny. I get 'em every time!”

Squirtle wanted to feel angry at the trick, but found it difficult to be mad at a Pokémon like Tiller the Palpitoad. He smiled at the infectious laughter. “Good one,” he said.

I...guess I passed?

He excused himself to go speak with Quil. As he approached, Squirtle hesitated. How was Quil going to feel about the way Squirtle had acted? Squirtle had done what he had to, and he'd done his best. But Quil might not see it that way. Quil might be furious at the way he'd been talked to, and they way he'd been constantly forced to do something he didn't want to do. It was because of Squirtle's actions that Quil was reduced to his present state.

True, Squirtle had gotten them to the ferry. He had accomplished Quil's goal. The victory felt incomplete though, tarnished by the stress and pain they'd had to experience. Still, Squirtle felt a measure of pride. He'd formulated strategies and generated ideas under pressure. For the most part, they had worked out well, but he had a long way to go yet before he could call himself a tactician of any merit.

Squirtle took a deep breath, and took a seat next to Quil. The Cyndaquil did not respond. His snout was buried in the short fur of his flank, and his forelimbs covered his face.

“Hey, Quil. Are you doing alright?”

Quil stirred. He peeked at Squirtle over his forelimb, somehow seeing even with his eye scrunched up.

“How close are we to the other side?” Quil asked. His voice was tightly controlled. Squirtle could detect nothing of his emotional state, in his voice anyway.

Looking out over the bow of the ferry, the opposite bank was still distant. The small bay they had departed from was much closer.

“Not very close, Quil, sorry. Twenty minutes, maybe?”

“Okay. Let's talk then. Once we get to dry land. Please.”

How could Squirtle not feel guilty with a response like that? The calmness of the words sounded forced. Quil was obviously traumatized to some degree, but he must be trying to keep it all to himself. To relax himself? To not worry Squirtle? Because he had used up all of his emotional energy? Whatever the reason, Squirtle was responsible.

Again, he reminded himself that they were safe and sound because of him. His plans, his quick reactions, his courage. Squirtle had no logical reason to feel guilty. That was that.

The guilt wouldn't go away though.

He sidled over to Quil, and put his arms around him, avoiding the fire. Squirtle closed his eyes and squeezed, trying to convey his support. Quil didn't want to talk. He wanted to recuperate. Maybe this would help the process along.

The moment passed. He released his hold on Quil's warm fur.

I hope that hug helped you as much as it helped me.

* * *

The Karp river was beautiful in its purity. Its scintillating surface stretched from horizon to horizon, upstream to downstream. In the noontide sun, the waters were an inviting blue, and nearly clear when Squirtle gazed through the surface. The river was not sinuous, but almost completely straight. Maybe rivers of a certain width or depth didn't meander like the waterways of Squirtle's fuzzy memories.

Squirtle stood near the bow of the boat, where he could look over the side and admire the Karp. He knew he'd made the right decision to give the world a try as his eyes sparkled with the river's light. To live this new life. With any luck, he'd be grateful for his decision time and time again. Even though what he'd experienced since making the decision was full of hardship, it was better than sitting in Bein's house and racking his brain for solutions to the 'Squirtle problem'. He may have even tried something more drastic to avoid his new life.

Thankfully, his mind was turned from those darker thoughts as the other two passengers on the ferry greeted him.

“Hello there, Squirtle!” The Sunflora greeted him with a motherly tone.

“Hello,” the Gloom added in a lackluster male voice. Squirtle had a faint preconception that Gloom were known for their unsightly salivation and hideous odor, but he must have had a false memory, because this Gloom was perfectly hygienic.

“You don't live in Karprest, do you Squirtle?” The Sunflora continued. “I bet I'd remember seeing you around, if you did. So you must be a traveler, with your Cyndaquil friend. Where are you headed?”

“We're going to a volcano. It's called...Iymobenin? Or, maybe it's Iyrobenin? Something like that.”

“Mm. We haven't heard of it, have we Orala?” asked the Gloom to the Sunflora, who shook her head firmly. “That place must be far away. Shame you must go so far, or do you like long trips? Can you handle yourself in the wild?”

“Don't scare him, Rutu dear, I'm sure they're well prepared for the journey. Aren't you, Squirtle?”

He wanted to reply with an enthusiastic 'Yes!', but there was no confidence to be found. He said, “I expect we are able enough. Quil's more prepared than me, but we'll find our way.”

“Oh, I'm so glad to hear that!” said Orala the Sunflora gaily. Rutu the Gloom made an unconvinced 'hmph' sound.

“Where are you two from?” asked Squirtle politely.

“We were just settling down in Karprest,” explained Rutu. “A decent house with a view of the hills to the west. Then that craziness with the Luxio happened, and we decided to leave. Getting out of there was a close thing. Troubling, how close it was. Coincidentally, the ferry was just about to leave, against the Luxio's orders I've heard.”

“It's not all bad, though,” said Orala. “As long as we have sunshine, we get by no matter where life takes us. There's a lesson in that, Squirtle! Maybe you feel similarly about water, mm?”

Squirtle nodded, glancing at the water. He felt a thrill just imagining diving in, right then and there. Of course he continued the conversation, but he felt distracted.

“And,” Orala held up a leaf-hand for emphasis, “we were about to have our first egg.”

Rutu's orange petals curled in shock. “Orala! We don't know this Squirtle! Why would--”

“Oh settle down, it's a perfectly natural part of life,” said Orala. “Everyone knows about how eggs come to be; it's no secret, Rutu. I just mean to say that we were lucky we got out when we did, since we wouldn't want to raise our baby Sunkern in that environment.”

Rutu looked embarrassed enough for the both of them. Squirtle's cheeks warmed as he realized what the fuss was about. Rutu was right. Why was Orala discussing that topic so openly in front of a stranger?

If she was open to it, however, Squirtle would take advantage. He wanted to learn more.

“Uh, how do you know, what er, what species it, the egg, I mean, how do you know what it will be?”

Squirtle's blush deepened. Now he sounded like he himself had just hatched out of an egg. The feeling intensified with the looks of incredulity that both Pokémon shot at him.

“The egg always holds the mother's unevolved form,” Rutu said. “Didn't you...is that not common knowledge?”

“I, I, ye-yes, of course. I just, er, I wanted to make sure. Make sure it was true.”

Neither made a reply to that. Orala slowly smiled her bright smile, as if she were realizing Squirtle was making a grand joke.

There's my big mouth again, Squirtle thought. At this rate, there'll be a trail of rumors behind me about that 'weird Squirtle'. I have to leave this conversation before I make a bigger fool out of myself.

“I'm gonna hop in the river now. Nice, er, talking with you two.” Squirtle felt he needed to add something more, but he didn't know what to say, so he backed up to the side of the ship before the departure grew more awkward.

“Bye,” said Orala faintly. Rutu said nothing, his mouth open slightly in confusion.

Squirtle jumped overboard.

With a small splash, the cool water surrounded him. He shut his eyes and floated for a moment, reveling in the glorious feeling of the river. Squirtle relaxed, and his thought processes became clear once more, unclouded by nerves or confusion.

I must not have dealt with Pokémon as much as I thought, if I don't know the basics of breeding. Or, I just forgot that specific knowledge. His body bobbed back to the surface. I wish I knew who I was.

Worries about the events of the morning began trickling into the forefront of his mind, nagging at him, urging him to consider the ramifications of Stolt and the Elekid's unbelievable power. Yet Squirtle pushed the worries away, electing instead to enjoy the sensation of the river. Troubles could wait.

The ferry moved steadily away from him. He knew he could easily keep up, but its speed was still greater than it had seemed on the deck. Following behind the ferry at an easy pace, Squirtle explored the river with his eyes. His vision was perfect, feeling somehow even superior to his vision outside of water.

The Karp was deep! Squirtle figured the river would be deep, because it was so wide, but a couple hundred feet of depth was pushing his previous expectations. Sunlight streamed from directly overhead, piercing to the depths of the river, but was still insufficient to adequately light up the riverbed. The bottom appeared to Squirtle as a silty substrate, tan in color. Greenery sprouted from the riverbed, too, and there was motion down below. The waters were quiet, almost silent.

At this point, Squirtle realized he should be frightened. He knew little about combat, there was no one to protect him, and the river could be host to powerful wild Pokémon eager for a little Squirtle like him to pop in for a dip. The energizing confidence the river lent him was too strong, however. Fear was an emotion for land, for being away from his element. Fear would not touch him here.

Onward he swam, following the mild wake of the ferry. He dove a few feet below the surface to practice total submersion swimming. His tail pushed the water backward by swaying left and right. Reaching forth with his hands, he scooped the water past him, first with his right arm, then with his left. His two legs repeated the motion of alternately grabbing the water and thrusting it back. The motion was much like breaststroke, but too unique to fall under that category. How did he even know how to swim this way?

The Squirtle body. This must be how Squirtle swim. Somehow, the fact that I'm letting it happen isn't bothering me this time. It must be the river that makes me feel this way, like everything's okay. And really, if I'm going to take advantage of being a Water-type in a river, I have to let it happen. I can't try to determine how to swim based on how my body is constructed. It's pointless, because I already know how to swim, if I just let those movement patterns and instincts kick in without interference by me.

For now, I'll let this body guide me in the river. Maybe for battling, too, since the canyon worked out for us. Wait, no, I can't just give up my reasoning! But if I don't, I'll freeze up if I can't think of something, just like in the canyon with the Zigzagoon.

I'll figure it out when the time comes. That's all I can do. I don't know if it's a good sign or a bad sign that I'm going with the flow, but I'll keep it in mind.

The ferry was getting ahead. Squirtle urged himself forward. His tail provided the majority of his speed. Once he really got moving, his hand and foot motions tended to drag, becoming dead weight. He focused on the ferry, and tried to swim even faster. Feeling a nagging urge, he complied. He contracted those strange muscles within his shell, which retracted his arms and legs.

Now, his head cut through the water like the bow of a ship. The water flowed around his streamlined shell, unhampered by arms and legs. His tail powered him forward, and he cut through the water like a knife. He couldn't help but grin. In seconds, he was next to the ferry.

Tiller's voice startled Squirtle. “One and one half degrees, port-side. Good speed down there.”

Though his voice came from beyond the surface, on the deck of the ferry, Squirtle still heard him clearly. Evidently he was able to hear sound through the surface barrier perfectly well. Interesting. Tiller had to be commanding the Pokémon of his crew, wherever they might be, since the gobbledegook made no sense to Squirtle.

Something squishy tapped Squirtle's tail. His heart leaped into his throat as his arms and legs shot out. He immediately pulled on the water and dashed away, spinning around to face his assailant. He shouldn't have let his guard down!

A Pokémon twice his size, light blue with an orange belly and cheeks, floated there. The near-black fins adorning its head and the back of its thighs marked it as a Marshtomp. If it decided to attack, it would be a formidable opponent, being an evolved Pokémon. Squirtle was torn between swimming all out to the ferry, or hampering the Marshtomp somehow.

A chortling laugh saturated the water. The Marshtomp held its belly with its flat hands, shaking where it floated.

“Oh ho ho ho, don't worry Squirtle, I'm not wild. Ho ho ho! The way you sped off like that, oh, I got you good! Nice reflexes,” and he laughed a bit more.

Now Squirtle recognized him as the Marshtomp from the ferry crew beneath the pavilion that morning. He was the one eager for a battle to test Squirtle's skill level. Squirtle allowed himself to relax.

The Marshtomp's voice sounded almost the same in the water. It was more difficult for Squirtle to tell where the noise was coming from, but he still could, barely. The sound seemed to come from everywhere, as sounds do underwater.

“Hey, swim with me,” said the Marshtomp. “I've gotta stick on the ferry. Protect it from any Pokémon lookin' for a fight down here. Not usually a problem, but you never know for sure.” Squirtle nodded, and swam next to the Marshtomp using his breaststroke-like movements.

The way the Marshtomp spoke didn't make sense. No bubbles issued from his mouth when he talked, and his voice worked just fine underwater.

“How are you--Whoa!” Squirtle never expected himself to be able to speak underwater like the Marshtomp. “How is this...? I'm not making bubbles, but I'm talking! Aren't I?”

“Heh, you're a strange one, aren't ya Squirtle? Didn't you ever talk to your mama underwater?”

“No, I...I never did. Sorry, I don't have much underwater experience, as strange as that sounds coming from a Squirtle.” Examining his voice more closely, he realized the muscles in his throat felt strange as he spoke. He was probably utilizing a slightly different method of speech that worked underwater without expelling air.

Speaking of air, Squirtle was astonished to realize that he'd been effortlessly holding his breath this whole time. Further, there was no urge to breathe. No burning lungs sensation, or darkness dancing around the periphery of his vision. He felt fine, better than ever. He recognized that he could get a new breath of air to refresh his supply, but his lungs were in no rush to receive fresh air.

The smile returned to his face. His new physical capabilities were empowering. Just like after battling the Zigzagoon, Squirtle felt a surge of excitement at knowing how capable he was in the water. The thrill of physical or athletic ability was still foreign to him, so he was reasonably confident that he was not the athletic type before his transformation. In a way, he was glad that his personality was modified in this case, since being a Squirtle with little desire to use his body would be a fairly worthless Squirtle.

“You're lookin' like a hatchling, Squirtle. What's so funny, eh?” The Marshtomp was looking at him with a bemused expression.

Squirtle opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of what he was about to say. It was obvious to the Marshtomp that Squirtle was a novice in the water. There was no way anything he said would convince the Marshtomp otherwise. So why not take advantage of the situation?

“I'll be honest with you, Marshtomp: I've lived almost my entire life away from water.”

“Say what now? Ha, no wonder you were askin' about powerful wild 'mon in the river this mornin'! Not used to swimmin', are you?”

“No, not at all. In fact, I've never had a battle underwater,” Squirtle said. The Marshtomp radiated surprise, then sympathy. Pity, even.

“Oh, Squirtle, you don't know what you're missin'! I've gotta show you how, as a fellow Wet. We've got some time, so it should be fun, yeah?”

Perfect, thought Squirtle, with genuine pleasure. “That would be very kind of you, Marshtomp.”

“Eh, call me Keel. That's what the rest of the crew calls me.”

“I'm Squirtle. Just Squirtle. But wait, plea--”

Before Squirtle could warn Keel that he wasn't ready to return an attack underwater, Keel initiated his greeting. His belly swelled up as his head pulled back. Then he opened his mouth and his head shot forward, like a striking Arbok. The water between Squirtle and Keel blurred, becoming a shade more opaque. A split second later, a surge of water struck Squirtle, sending him spinning away. He ended up facing the riverbed, nearly upside-down. It took a moment for him to reorient and face Keel once more.

“Ah, right, you don't know 'bout fightin' underwater. Forgot. My apologies, Squirtle.”

Squirtle forced the peeved expression from his face. He couldn't take a deep breath, so he just closed his eyes to recenter himself.

“It's alright,” said Squirtle. “So what can you teach me, Keel?”

“Mm. Good question. Never been a teacher before. How 'bout we just start with what I just did. I'll teach you to fire a stream of water. Water Gun, they call it. You know the one, don't ya?”

Squirtle nodded, beginning to feel both excited and discouraged: the feeling of dreaming big, but then doubting one's abilities to achieve anything close. The most he knew how to do was Tackle someone. Would he even be able to shoot water? The innate capabilities of the Squirtle species only stretched so far. Then again, if he could learn this technique, he'd more than double his combat effectiveness. He would have a ranged attack, an elemental attack, and a more powerful attack all in one fell swoop.

“Right, uh, let's start,” said Keel.

“You can learn to teach while I learn to Water Gun,” Squirtle said, trying to make Keel feel more at ease.

“Heh, very funny. Okay. Open your mouth, and make your lips as close to an 'O' shape as you can. Like you're blowin' bubble rings.”

Squirtle did so.

“Now, I know you're used to makin' water and just squirtin' it at somethin'. But underwater, there's no need to draw water from your body – your Pool, I've heard it called. You just have to push the water that's already in front of your mouth. So use those same muscles, that same process, but skip the part where you pull water from your body into your mouth.”

Squirtle did not find the lecture very helpful, because unbeknownst to the Marshtomp, he had never executed a Water Gun, even on land. Squirtle did not know how to push the water.

First, he tried collapsing his cheeks to push the water. Nothing happened.

Next, he tried pushing with his lungs. Bubbles leaked out of his mouth as he exhaled.

Then, he tried squirting the water, as if he were spitting out a foul beverage. He felt the water in front of his mouth swirl about, harmlessly. He could not generate enough force.

“I must be doing it wrong, Keel.”

“What?” Keel was confounded at Squirtle's lack of progress. “You just pretend you're shootin' water on land, basically. Don't tell me you've never done a Water Gun on land?”

Squirtle chose not to reply to that. He recognized a need for fresh air creeping on him. The bubbles he had exhaled were precious indeed.

“I'm going to grab some air, be right back,” said Squirtle as he swam upward to the surface. Keel nodded.

I have to learn this. I've chosen to give everything I've got to this life. Any respectable Squirtle will know this technique, so I'm going to learn it. I'll be able to help Quil better, too. Learning this technique is the only option. But nothing's working!

Poking his head out of the river, Squirtle could see the opposite river bank coming close. They were a few minutes away now. He took a full breath, and nose dived by raising his legs and tail above his shell.

Approaching the Marshtomp once more, a frightening thought flitted through his awareness. If the Marshtomp was a wild Pokémon, Squirtle would stand no chance. Keel could out-swim him to the deck if he tried to escape. And Squirtle had no chance to match Keel in an aquatic battle. His only chance would be to do what he had done against the Zigzagoon, and try to forget about his tactics. He had to let his survival instincts take hold, and hope they brought with them innate abilities that no amount of thinking would unlock.

A solution to the Water Gun training began to unfold in his head.

“Keel, I thought of a way I may be able to learn this,” Squirtle said as he matched Keel's pace. “This may sound strange to you, but I have to see you as an enemy. That way I can try to scare myself, and not think so hard about what I'm doing. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, good idea Squirtle! We can try that. You ready?”

After swimming a bit farther from Keel, Squirtle nodded.

The Marshtomp's face became hard with focus, and his skin darkened in color. With a spin, mud was flung from his body to obscure the pristine waters. The surge of mud struck Squirtle and sent him tumbling away. Now completely disoriented by the muddy water, the courage that being in the water gave him wavered. Squirtle did not need to trick himself in order to feel scared, now. He could see neither the surface nor the distant riverbed.

This is it. When he comes, I need to push him back. Don't think. Just react.

Squirtle rotated in place, scanning for an attack from Keel. He didn't have to wait long before the Marshtomp appeared in the haze, swimming swiftly toward him. Squirtle tensed, enabling a quick reaction.

A tingling, an itch, a need arose in the back of his mouth, behind his throat. Squirtle squeezed muscles in that area, which reflexively triggered his mouth contracting into an 'O' shape. He felt pressure in his mouth as water issued into it from within.

Then, immediately after, his head snapped toward Keel and he squeezed muscles inside his body, driving a stream of pressure out of his mouth. The stream was shaped by his mouth, resulting in a messy but linear current flowing into Keel. The mud swirled around the current, blurring from the flow. The sensation was like squeezing a sponge, except the sponge somehow kept refilling as it expelled water. Perhaps the feeling was closer to opening the valve to a hose.

The pressure drove Squirtle backward even as it plowed into Keel. Because his body was beneath his head, but Keel was in front of him, the force pushed Squirtle's head back. He rotated away, cursing his foolish body positioning. In less than a second, Keel was out of his line of sight. He relaxed the pressure, ending the stream.

“Good, good!” Keel exclaimed, stopping his assault. “That tickled, but it's a start, yeah?”

Squirtle was elated as he came back to himself. This was the second time he had outwitted his own wits during a combat situation in order to improve. Now that he knew how the move felt, he was confident he could replicate it. Maybe not under pressure just yet, but he could practice.

“All right! I think I drew water from my body by accident, but I still made the stream!”

“Heh, that's an ordinary Water Gun you just did, Squirtle. So my job isn't done yet. I gotta teach you about fighting underwater. It's only a little bit quicker if you shoot one off without squeezin' water into your mouth first, but it can be worth it.”

Squirtle smiled, eager to try again. “Here's another one then. Can you critique me?”

Keel held up a hand. “I've got a better idea. Why not try on a real opponent?”

“A wild Pokémon, you mean? What's wrong with practicing with you?” Squirtle wasn't comfortable with another real battle out of the blue.

“No offense, Squirtle, but I think I'm too practiced at this type of thing to be helpful to you. You have to know how it feels when your Water Gun strikes. How hard they're pushed, how they try to alter their course. You have to make little corrections to your stream. If I just barrel through your stream it's not good practice. You get it?”

Squirtle could not deny the points Keel made. Clearly he knew a great deal about underwater combat.

“Fine, you're right. I haven't seen a wild around though.”

The muddy water was clearing up as they spoke. Keel had been squinting through the haze, and now he pointed behind and below Squirtle.

“There, a Magikarp. Knew I'd spot one. You know why it's called Karprest right? Those 'mon are everywhere, and you see a lot of 'em resting in Karprest's bay. Most aren't the brightest, but I've met a couple goodies. Let's pay it a visit, yeah?”

Squirtle followed behind the enthusiastic Marshtomp. On one hand, he was excited to improve. On the other, the Magikarp would surely fight back. The territorial urges, along with the other reasons Quil had given the previous day would compel it to defend itself. If he were the Magikarp, he would not fight back, since Keel would be there too. But instincts overrode reason in most wild Pokémon during a dangerous situation, from what he understood.

The Magikarp stopped its journey upon noticing the two approach, but its vacant expression did not change. It swam back and forth, keeping first its left eye on the pair and then its right eye.

A flash of memory struck Squirtle. For a second, he was back in the rocky canyon where he had fought the Zigzagoon. Only this time, he imagined himself as the Zigzagoon approaching the Squirtle and Cyndaquil with hostile intent. He saw the fear in the Squirtle's eyes through the Zigzagoon's perspective. The uncertainty of what was going to happen to him, the desire to avoid a confrontation. The memory faded, the rock walls becoming open water, and the Squirtle of memory becoming the Magikarp before him.

The situation was not all that different. Squirtle stopped his advance.

The Magikarp, though, was inclined to fight. Instead of swimming back and forth, its body now snaked toward Squirtle and Keel.

“Fire one off!” Keel said as he waded behind Squirtle.

He could worry about morality later. Time to attack, or be attacked.

Squirtle rotated his lower body so that his head was between the Magikarp and the rest of his body. Then he focused on remembering the feeling of those inner muscles contracting, the way it felt when he generated a stream from the pressure of his body. He shaped his mouth into a circle and squeezed those 'water pressure' muscles.

His aim was a bit off, this time. Squirtle saw his stream upset the water off to the Magikarp's left. Quickly, he turned his head ever so slightly, allowing the stream to collide with the Magikarp. Its body actually inflated slightly as the current went into its gaping mouth. The Magikarp flailed its pectoral fins at the stream, as if trying to splash it away, but there was no effect. Helpless before the attack, it was pushed harshly backward about ten feet.

“Yeah, now you've got it!” Keel cheered from the sidelines.

The poor thing is really weak. And here it comes again, the fool.

The Magikarp swam mindlessly toward the Squirtle for another attack. It seemed like it had plenty of energy, so Squirtle wasted no time in using another Water Gun.

This time Squirtle tried to hold the attack for as long as he could. As the Magikarp was jostled by the pressure, Squirtle made tiny corrections to his head angle and mouth shape to keep the stream on his opponent. He found that even his tongue position could change the direction and power of the flow. Apparently there was much to learn before he could reliably keep a full-power Water Gun on his opponent.

The force pushed Squirtle back, away from the Magikarp. He steered with his arms, legs, and tail with some success. His head was still in a good position to aim at the Magikarp by the time the stream failed. Squirtle could only sustain the move for about three seconds. His muscles felt shaky, but Squirtle knew that they'd be strong in no time. He'd just never used them before.

The Magikarp lost interest in the fight. It back-paddled with its pectoral fins for a while before turning tail and swimming away. Squirtle could see that the Magikarp did not look too tired out, so he was grateful that the battle had not been very taxing on either of them.

Squirtle turned to Keel, with no small amount of pride. The Marshtomp was swimming a loop of joy.

“That was great! You're a natural! You should be, since you're a Squirtle and all.” He laughed, and Squirtle joined in.

“You'll get the hang of aiming with your tongue and lips the more you practice. And the stamina to keep the stream going will come in time. So keep practicing, and get better!”

“Can do!”

“And you even picked up on how important body positioning is. You gotta keep in mind how your head's gonna rotate away, and how your route will be affected when your stream pushes you away.”

Squirtle nodded. “Got it. Thank you, Keel; I really am grateful for this little training session.”

Keel grinned proudly, but spoke humbly. “Hey, I practically owed it to you, from one Wet to another. We've gotta look out for each other, yeah?”

Squirtle agreed with a smile of his own, beginning to feel the kinship that Keel suggested.

Keel looked about for a moment, suddenly alert. His eyes locked on the ferry, now a fair distance away. It was almost invisible at that distance, despite the clarity of the Karp's waters.

“Yagh! The ferry, I forgot all about it! We're gettin' back there quick; I'm still on lower defense duty!”

Together, the two Water Pokémon swam through the quiet Karp river and back to the ferry.


	9. Comparison

Squirtle and Keel the Marshtomp made it back to the ferry of Karprest without incident. They passed underneath a Surskit, the same Surskit that Squirtle had seen that morning sending bubbles at a Tympole.

“That's Jib,” Keel explained, as he glided belly-up far beneath the surface. “She's on upper defense duty, just like I'm on lower defense duty. We gotta watch for aggressive wilds as we cross the Karp, and battle 'em down if need be.”

Safely beneath the ferry once more, Keel split from Squirtle to patrol during the remaining minutes of the voyage. He said the times of greatest risk were at the beginning and ending of the trip, because more wilds lived near the riverbanks. Squirtle, left to his own devices, considered returning to the deck and checking on Quil. The trip was almost over, however, so Squirtle elected to enjoy the river while he still could.

He increased his pace to approach the front of the ferry. Squirtle had his suspicions of what was pulling the ferry because of what Tiller had said, but he wanted to see the process in action with his own eyes. He recalled seeing the frothing surface of the water in front of the ferry's bow, and now the reason for the disturbance became clear.

That morning, Squirtle had seen the long ropes that connected the ferry to a big, finely-woven, but empty net. Now, he saw the fibers of the net taut as various Pokémon pushed into it in their own manner of swimming. Squirtle spotted two Magikarp, a Tympole, a Wooper, and a Mudkip in the net. The rest of the ferry's crew. Each was focused on swimming forward, and each added to the roiling of the water at the surface. The net was not for catching Pokémon; it functioned as a harness.

Squirtle stayed out of sight, allowing the crew to focus, but wondered if any of them might like a break. Perhaps he could fill in, and give one of the air-breathers a chance to catch a breath at the surface. Although, Squirtle wasn't sure if any of them actually needed to breathe air, when he thought about it.

As he swam easily behind the net, Squirtle could see the riverbed curving up out of the gloom to become the riverbank. The ferry had nearly arrived. Hopefully Quil could see, and was feeling excited to get away from the water. Squirtle grimaced at that.

This means that every time we come across water, Quil and I will have opposite reactions. So long as I'm traveling with him, I'll never be able to fully enjoy a long swim because Quil will always be eager to get away from the water.

After deciding to get back on the ferry, Squirtle had to figure out how, since he saw no means of accessing the deck from the water, not even a ladder. He gained some speed underwater, then angled upward, successfully soaring a couple of feet above the surface before crashing back in. A few practice jumps later, Squirtle powered through the water in preparation for the jump to the deck. Just before reaching the side of the boat, he angled himself upward and launched out of the water - his fastest jump yet.

CLUNK!

His head collided with the hull, and he fell back into the river. He'd surfaced too late, and hit the side of the boat instead of soaring over the edge.

Weakness spread from his forehead, as it had when the Nuzleaf's attack had sliced his tail, but this was barely perceptible. The pain was likewise very light. Pokémon were durable indeed. Squirtle tried again immediately.

This time, he made it over the edge of the ferry with no contact. Squirtle had not planned for how to land gracefully on the deck, but he managed to break his fall with one hand and awkwardly roll to his feet. Fortunately no one was looking at the time.

“Just in time for landing, Squirtle,” said the Palpitoad, Tiller, in his throaty voice. Quil was still motionless in the center of the boat, but looking more relaxed. Orala and Rutu glanced at Squirtle, but returned to watching the shore come into view in detail at last.

Far in the distance, an impressive range of mountains blocked view of the horizon. Their jagged peaks reached into the sky as if an earthen giant larger than imagination was clawing at the clouds. The mountaintops were white with snow. In front of the mountain range, foothills of green and brown rolled over the vast landscape, similar to the hills that Squirtle and Quil had descended between Root Forest and Karprest. Yet even the foothills were distant, as a formidable swath of grassland lay between the Karp River and the foothills, its pastures unmarked by a single tree.

All of this Squirtle could see from the deck of the ferry as it approached the grassy bank. The landscape was so open and visible that Squirtle actually felt intimidated as he thought about just how many square miles of wilderness he could see. Now he was a little Pokémon, too, which meant the distances were even more significant to traverse.

Trailing out from the dirt bank, a pier bobbed on the water – the dock at Karprest in miniature. When the ferry neared it, some of the Pokémon tugging the front of the boat emerged from the water. The harness net drifted up to the surface, empty. The Wooper and Mudkip marched tiredly up the bank while the rest simply floated around the boat to relax.

Before the boat had come to a stop, Quil was preemptively leaping off the boat and sprinting up the pier. He stopped a safe distance from the water's edge and embraced the ground beneath him with both forelimbs.

As the ferry came alongside the pier, Tiller jumped up onto the gunwale of the boat opposite the pier. Squirtle could see him producing a stream of bubbles from his mouth as he leaned out to aim at where the water lapped against the side of the boat. He faced first one spot, then quickly skirted to the side to point the bubbles at a part of the boat closer to the stern. Then he was at the front of the boat, shooting bubbles at a slower rate. Squirtle could feel the boat moving and rotating in response to the forceful bursting of the bubbles. Bit by bit the boat came to rest in a perfect position next to the pier, aiming back out to the river. Keel the Marshtomp surfaced in order to expertly tie a rope from the boat onto one of the supports for the pier, and then the trip was over.

Orala and Rutu retrieved a little pouch with a carrying strap from the edge of the deck, and Rutu pulled out three gleaming golden coins. Tiller nodded, and kicked out a small canister that jingled from near the bow. Rutu deposited his coins, and after Tiller thanked them and invited them to use the ferry some other time, the Gloom and Sunflora departed. To Squirtle's eyes, they looked to be heading along the river's edge, downstream. He wondered which direction Quil was bound.

Squirtle stepped up to Tiller, but the Palpitoad spoke before he could.

“Save it, my Squirtle friend. I don't need to hear any excuses or explanations from one of the 'mon who helped this ferry get away safe from Karprest. And I don't need any Poké, neither.”

Once Squirtle determined that Poké was the name of the currency, he understood that Tiller was letting Quil and him off the hook. He nodded seriously.

“Thank you, Tiller. And I believe Quil would thank you too, if he weren't so...opposed to being near water.”

“Take care on your travels.” He turned away and raised his voice to a shout. “Karprest Ferry Crew, emergency meeting on the dock in five minutes!”

Squirtle dipped his tail in the water one last time as he walked up the pier to Quil. Who knew the next time he'd be able to enjoy the delightful, cool touch of a river like that? Quil was waiting for him, looking relaxed once more.

“Tiller said we didn't have to pay, as thanks for protecting the ferry,” Squirtle explained. “Even though we were just protecting ourselves,” he finished a bit ruefully.

“Oh, great! I don't have any Poké, so I'm glad he was fine with us coming along for free,” Quil replied.

“Come to think of it, maybe Tiller let us off because he saw we didn't have any money,” Squirtle said.

Quil tilted his head. “Maybe, yeah.”

Squirtle felt an odd smile come onto his face as he thought back to the Pokémon he had met thus far. Most of the Pokémon he'd interacted with had been intimidating. They were larger than him, more straightforward and confident than him, and would definitely prove more powerful than him in a battle. Yet a good portion of those Pokémon were fair and reasonable in their dealings with him, and even generous. The juxtaposition of size and power with civility and kindness was difficult for Squirtle to settle, in his mind. Even the Zigzagoon in the canyon maintained some breed of courtesy following their fight.

Squirtle was not displeased at all to add Tiller to the list.

Quil started forward toward the mountains, directly away from the river. Squirtle followed at his side. The gentle sounds of the river became the crunching of grass beneath their feet. Squirtle's view of the vast panorama of wilderness was swallowed by the browns, yellows, and greens of the grassland they now entered. However, Quil led them into a strip of land somewhat cleared of growth. A path.

The path was fairly spacious, thankfully, and it meandered little. The air smelled peculiarly fresh, unladen by any plant odors. By the looks of it, the path was not trimmed very often, but at least most of the grass on it had not yet grown any higher than Squirtle's tail. On the other hand, the grasses on either side of the path grew well above his head, blocking vision of the area. Squirtle felt as small as he had in Root Forest. He was isolated from the world, packed into a tiny pocket of grassland with Quil.

The pair had barely left the ferry behind when Quil spoke up.

“Squirtle, you were amazing back there, getting us to the ferry. I never got the chance to tell you that.”

He couldn't help but feel a glimmer of pride as he recalled the highlights of their flight, but Squirtle replied graciously. “Thank you, Quil. You did your part too, of course, when you used your fire to make the steam.”

“And that's just it, Squirtle. I was so thoughtless!”

Squirtle turned to him sharply as he continued.

“I once learned a Fire-type technique that we Flames call Smokescreen. And you know what it does? It makes a cloud of smoke to prevent others from seeing you clearly. Exactly what we needed to make it to the ferry in one piece. While I was holding onto your shell, not thinking at all, I had in my head the perfect technique for the situation. Literally, the perfect one. And I just held on, waiting for it all to be over.”

Squirtle was surprised by the information, but their escape had been successful. It was in the past now. He opened his mouth to console Quil by saying as much, but Quil continued his rant.

“I should have tried to use my Smokescreen when that Elekid was charging up her Electric attack, but I was terrified. I admit it. I couldn't think.” His head moved, and Squirtle guessed he was looking sidelong at him now. “You though, you were incredible back there, thinking on your feet so quickly. A real tactician. I wish, I really wish I could have acted differently, --”

Before he could say more, Squirtle interrupted. “Quil, it's alright, it's okay. We made it, and we could not have done it without you. If the Elekid had landed a direct hit on me, I don't think I would have stayed conscious.” He paused, remembering the feeling of the electricity coursing through the water and into him. “But the steam you produced must have impaired her aim. You did save us. I know I swam us to the ferry, but we escaped by both our efforts.”

Quil made a noise of heavy skepticism. “You're saying my steam made her miss? Not the fact that we were already one or two hundred feet away from the dock?”

After a moment's thought, Squirtle said, “Yes. I still think she would have hit us if you hadn't produced the steam cover.”

Quil sighed. “I trust you're being honest, Squirtle, but I can't trust your understanding of Pokémon battling just yet. Sorry.”

That was a blow, coming from the ever humble and encouraging Quil, but he was wrong. Yes, during the battle with the Zigzagoon, Squirtle had been completely oblivious. But Quil didn't know Squirtle had gotten a bit more experience with battling, and even learned the basics of a Water-type technique. He wasn't ignorant of how Pokémon battling worked!

As those thoughts raced through his mind, Squirtle found his lips beginning to part, and a snarl starting in his throat. With his anger roused, he could feel his grip on his composure loosen. Immediately, he stopped the snarl and stood tall and rigid to prevent himself from falling into a battle-ready crouch.

“Fine, you don't have to think my reasoning is correct. It's obvious to anyone that I'm not yet competent. However, I'm not going to trust your understanding of Pokémon battling either. Mind telling me why you were so reluctant to use a Fire technique on the water around us, just before the Elekid's last attack?”

Quil appeared to become suddenly interested in the grassy ground in front of his feet, and said nothing.

Another instance of Quil's reluctance occurred to Squirtle as they walked. “Now that I think about it, you refused to use your fire in the forest, too. You said there was a Paras about to attack us, when I was Paralyzed. So I suggested you use your fire, since fire is very potent against Paras, right?”

Quil nodded.

Squirtle continued, “In spite of that, you said couldn't use your fire, or that you could only do it somewhere else. I didn't think about it until now, but that doesn't make sense to me. Oh, and you didn't use any Fire-type moves against the Zigzagoon either. Why not, Quil?”

Quil said something quietly, too quiet for Squirtle to hear, so Squirtle kept talking.

“Ever since I saw you fight with the Zigzagoon, I thought you had plenty of battle experience. Yet, from what I can tell, you don't use your Fire abilities unless you absolutely have to. Why?”

“I said, because they're bad!” Quil cried. “They're awful! My Fire-type moves are a joke. They wouldn't hurt a Caterpie.”

Squirtle was thrown by that explanation. In a battle, he supposed that it was logical to stick to the reliable techniques, the techniques that you knew would hit hard. If Quil felt his Fire-type moves were inadequate, then he would be right to not use them. A Cyndaquil not using its fire, though, must be foolish. Squirtle thought that all Cyndaquil had naturally potent Fire techniques; flame streamed from their bodies, after all. So why should Quil be any different? Wouldn't he have practiced, at least, if they were on the weak side?

“The steam, though. Those motes of light you made were bright red, and they created a great deal of steam. Surely there was power in that technique.”

Quil looked at him sidelong again, seeming to consider his words, but he finally said, “No, I doubt that. The Fire Pokémon that I've seen make fire could light up a moonless night, could make you see stars when you looked away. Especially Quindo. My brother.”

Squirtle could not resist a brief smile at the mention of the name of Quil's brother, despite the gravity of the conversation. Quil's parents must have had some strange naming conventions. Thankfully Quil was looking forward and did not see his smile.

“I'm just a candle in comparison,” he continued. “My fire's pitiful. I'm hoping when I get to Iyrodenin, that will be fixed. One of the very few benefits I'm looking forward to on this dumb journey.”

“I don't suppose Quindo is a Typhlosion who works on his technique every day, is he?”

Quil laughed once, without much humor. “He's a Quilava. The day he got back from his Pilgrimage to Iyrodenin as a newly-evolved Quilava, his fire was miles beyond mine. Even before he left, when we were both Cyndaquil, he was better. He's always been better. And no, he doesn't go looking for battles constantly to improve.”

“He's older and more experienced, probably like most of the Fire Pokémon you said you've seen, so maybe that's why your Fire techniques seem weak. You're making a comparison, not an individual measurement.”

“Squirtle, battling is all about comparisons. Who is stronger, which move is faster, how one Type relates to another. My Fire moves are weaker, so they're weak. Sadly.”

Squirtle frowned. “Well Quil, I guess we're stuck. I know what I saw, and I don't think it was pitiful at all. You, on the other hand, think your Fire techniques are terrible. Oh, I know how we can settle this! The next time we face a wild Pokémon looking for a battle, you use that Fire move again, and we'll see how it measures up in a real battle!”

Quil groaned. “That is one of the best ideas I've heard...for trying to get knocked out as fast as possible.”

“Put it this way: do you think you'll be able to evolve at Iymo...that volcano if you never practice your Fire techniques?”

Quil seemed to think it over. “Fine, I'll try. Now can we talk about something else please? I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry for how I acted during our escape, and to thank you.”

Squirtle was tempted to say, 'Like I said, you helped us escape, too!', but he respected Quil's wishes.

“Alright,” he said, and allowed the brushing and crunching of the grass to fill the air for a moment.

“You know,” said Quil, “you almost sound like you're eager for another battle, but when we fought the Zigzagoon, it wasn't exactly a great success for us.”

Quil was correct. The battle had been nerve-wracking and uncertain up until the end. The thrill of victory had been immensely satisfying, but victory was never guaranteed in the future. More worrisome to Squirtle than the battle itself, however, was his reaction to it. Had it been he who relished the Tackle he had performed, the victory that had been won? Or was it the Pokémon body he inhabited? He felt that before his transformation he would have turned away from every confrontation. Was he now so eager to fight again? To assess Quil's skills, and to test his own?

Squirtle raised his arms to try to interlace his fingers behind his smooth head, but his arms were now too short to reach each other.

“I don't know. I want to say that yes, I'm eager, but I don't know if that's the right answer.” Squirtle somehow felt Quil's scrutiny on him, despite the strangeness of Quil's eye-wrinkles, so he hastily said, “Can we talk about something else?”

Quil chuckled.

“Speaking of your brother,” said Squirtle, “I've been curious about how you two got your names: Quil and Quindo. Is it normal to be given a name that's close to the name of your species, where you come from - Steady Steppe, right?”

“Yeah, it's definitely normal, but it depends on the species. Some 'mon tend to give more unique names. Stolt, for example – I've never heard a name like that, and it's completely different than the names of the species in that evolutionary line: Shinx, Luxio, Luxray. Then there are 'mon like me and my family who give names more appropriate for the species in the evolutionary line. Quil, as in Cyndaquil or Quilava. I guess the origin of my name is pretty obvious, right?” He laughed again.

Quil must have noticed Squirtle paying rapt attention, so his explanation continued. “I think it's better that way. Remembering someone's name is easy when you can match it to their face. When I introduced myself to Bein, he butted heads with a Cyndaquil, which he will probably remember. But if he forgets my name, at least he can picture my face, think of 'Cyndaquil', and that'll help him remember my name's Quil. The same goes for all Pokémon that give names based off the species names in their evolutionary line.”

“Alright, that makes sense, but what if you had a few other siblings? Wouldn't it be confusing to have, say, ten members of a family, each with a name based off the same three words? Better yet, what about a family that only has two evolutions in its line, or one that doesn't evolve at all?”

“A perfect question, young Squirtle, allow me to answer it!”

Squirtle gave Quil a questioning glance, who laughed in response. Squirtle rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

“First of all, I think you might be surprised at how many unique names you can make out of the name of even one species. Even if the names are similar, like Quil and Quindo, they're still easy to tell apart. Still, you're right. Some families in Steady Steppe were huge – I'm talking twenty or thirty 'mon! So the names become too similar. And for those cases, there are hatch names.”

“Hatch names?”

“Technically, there are two types of names: hatch names, and nicknames. Quil is a nickname. Squirtle is a nickname. By the way, plenty of Pokémon go by their species name like you, where I'm from, so please don't think it's strange.”

Squirtle nodded, feeling a surprising amount of relief.

“So when you meet and talk to 'mon,” Quil continued, “every name you hear is a nickname. Hatch names are more private. They're familial names. Big families, and families with strong family ties, tend to give hatch names as well as nicknames, so that they don't get confused within the family. For example, I met a Bulbasaur once who told me his hatch name. Usually it's private knowledge, but I don't think he'd mind me telling you. It was Rarssa. Everyone knew him as Ivies, but he came from a large family, so he had siblings with names similar to Ivies. To solve that issue, everyone in his family was given a hatch name. Hatch names are usually much easier to tell apart, and they're also easy for that species to say.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Squirtle.

“You know how every 'mon has a certain way of speaking, a sort of species accent? Well, apparently Rarssa is easy for a Bulbasaur, an Ivysaur, or a Venusaur to pronounce. The sounds are just easy to make for their mouths.”

“I see. Do you have a hatch name, Quil?”

Quil paused before saying, “It's considered a bit impolite to ask someone their hatch name where I live, Squirtle, and probably around here too. Just so you know.”

“Ah, sorry. I'll keep that in mind.”

“No big deal, since I don't have a hatch name. I'm just Quil.”

Squirtle nodded, piecing together everything Quil had said. “I understand now. Nicknames are usually intuitive, and easy to remember. Hatch names are sometimes given as more unique identifiers in large families. Thanks for the explanation.”

“That's the gist! Your turn, then. Can you remember how 'mon did names where you come from? Or is it one of those memories that's gone?”

Oh, Squirtle remembered perfectly well how names were done where he came from. A vast pool of typical names came to mind, but as usual, no faces or connections other than the words. He didn't think there was harm in telling Quil what he could recall, as it wouldn't jeopardize his position as a Squirtle. Still, Quil might one day realize that everything he heard about Squirtle's past could be put together to form a distinctly non-Pokémon picture.

If I want to keep asking these questions, I have to be prepared to deal with the consequences. It's a dangerous game I'm playing, thought Squirtle.

“Yes, I remember,” said Squirtle. “Everyone was given one or two names when they were born. And everyone also had a family name, a name that everyone from the same family shared. A fairly simple system.”

“It is,” Quil agreed, “but what do you mean by born? Do you mean...they were given a name when they hatched?”

“That's what I meant,” said Squirtle hurriedly. Afterward, he thought Quil paused for an unusually long time before speaking, but he could have been imagining it due to the tension he felt inside.

“Yep, your system is not too different from the way we do it in Steady Steppe, and the nearby regions.”

The route through the grassland turned into a slight rise so that Quil and Squirtle could briefly see over the grasses to the hills in the distance, and even the towering mountains far beyond. The pair had made no measurable progress, in Squirtle's eyes. He wondered where the next stop was on Quil's journey, but first he wanted answers about a different topic. Learning about the world was greatly pleasing to Squirtle.

He said, “Another custom that is probably different between where you and I come from is how battles are treated. Unfortunately I can't recall anything from my past for this one. Now, how do I ask this properly?”

Quil waited patiently, his head craning about every now and then, as if he were peering into the tall grasses for something. Squirtle, meanwhile, mentally reminded himself to choose his words carefully so as to not sound strange to Quil.

“While you were on the boat, Quil, I swam in the river. I actually got into a short battle with a Magikarp.”

“Oh, really? Magikarp aren't strong fighters, are they? Did you win?”

Squirtle smiled. “Yes, I won, and yes, I found it to be relatively weak. What concerns me is what happened before the battle. The Magikarp was minding its own business, swimming by. I swam close to it, looking to battle with it. So the Magikarp finally came at me to attack. But I felt bad, Quil. I just wanted to practice my skills, not interrupt its day-to-day life, and maybe even hurt it! How can I justify my actions, when they're so objectively selfish, and potentially cruel?”

“What!?” Quil returned his full attention to Squirtle. “That's not being selfish or cruel! What part of starting a battle is selfish or cruel?”

“Like I said, I might have badly hurt it. And I started the battle in order to improve myself, but what if the Magikarp was not like-minded and had no interest in fighting?”

“Agh, Squirtle, I think you're approaching this in entirely the wrong way. Please don't take offense. Battling isn't like that, it's not how you described it. I thought battling etiquette was the same everywhere, but if you're thinking of it like that, then I'm definitely wrong.”

“Teach me,” said Squirtle eagerly. Quil shook his head slightly, not to say 'No', but as in fascination.

“Squirtle, I'm glad you're traveling with me, because talking with you can be so bizarre. You know, in a good way.”

Squirtle merely encouraged him with hand gestures.

“This reminds me of the time you were confused about why we were attacked in Root Forest, and I tried to clarify it. Still, if you can't remember how battling works, then you can't remember, no matter how strange it feels to explain.” Quil took a steadying breath.

“Battling in the wild is not a terrible, hostile activity. Pokémon rarely battle because of personal issues, or because one has some issue with the other. There's no hatred involved. Battling is...more of a tradition. But that's not quite it. Obviously it has a point to it; Pokémon don't often battle for fun in the wild, unless they're in the same family. No, they battle because...because it's what we're made to do,”

“I'm sorry, but I don't think I understand,” said Squirtle with a frown.

“That's okay, I'm not done my explanation yet. The problem is that it's so difficult to explain! And embarrassing, too.” He held up a forelimb, presumably to stifle any possible apologies from Squirtle. “I know, I know, you still want to learn.”

“When we ran into the Zigzagoon,” Quil explained, “some instinct got it riled up. We can't blame it for that, since it's only natural. If our positions were reversed, it should not and would not blame us. Regardless of who saw who, or whose territory was being intruded upon, or which 'mon is the more experienced fighter, there is no blame. Starting a battle is not selfish, because it's natural, and it's not cruel, because it's natural.”

Here, Quil's voice briefly took on a strained quality. “Of course, one 'mon may try to avoid the battle, and that is not blameworthy either.” Pause. “Anyway, both sides benefit from a battle, since they both learn from the experience, and the way they fight becomes more practiced. I won't say that it's always enjoyable or necessary. You already know how I feel about this journey in that respect. But anyone, even I, would agree that it's not a 'mon's fault if they try to battle you.”

“Even if the Pokémon just wants to improve, and is not at all compelled to fight?”

“Even then, Squirtle. Improvement is a necessity in the wild, after all.”

Squirtle thought over Quil's explanation, poking for holes and inconsistencies. “Let's say we stray too close to where a Raticate lives, and it fights us. If it wins, and we fall unconscious, how does that help the Raticate?”

“Battles don't usually go to the point of unconsciousness, Squirtle, since there's no need. Once it was clear that the Raticate was beating us, it would chase us away, and we would know to not go back there again. The Raticate benefits by ensuring that we don't return, since we know it will win in a battle. Stubborn fighters will go until they can't even stand up anymore, but then it's their fault for getting knocked out.”

“You're saying that's not cruel?”

“No, of course it's not! Taking hits doesn't hurt much, and I'm sure you get used to it the more you battle. The usual exception is being hit by an element that you're weak against – that can hurt.”

Quil fell silent, brooding, for a few seconds.

“In the end, it doesn't matter how badly you're hurt or how tired you get, because 'mon recover so quickly. You yourself experienced how quickly we felt better after Stolt...er, after this morning.” Squirtle thought he could hear Quil swallow nervously. “We were back to peak shape in no time! I think that Pokémon are meant to fight. I don't know if that's good or bad, but it makes the most sense to me, for what that's worth. Maybe the way battling works is totally different where you come from, Squirtle, but everyone I've ever known sees it how I just described, with the occasional slight difference in opinion.”

“You've convinced me Quil,” said Squirtle. “And that's a load off my shoul- er, a load off my shell. When I know I probably have much battling to do in my future, the fact that battling is, at least around here, so fundamentally accepted is a relief. Except, one question remains in my mind.”

He didn't want to ask. But that urge to learn the answer would only grow stronger if he let it simmer. He had to ask Quil. He had to. Continuing to live this life as a Squirtle required knowledge of his limits. He needed to know about mortality.

“Quil, do Pokémon ever die in battles?”

Quil stopped walking. Squirtle stared at the Cyndaquil's often indecipherable expression, trying to guess if he had breached some taboo. What he saw was an emotion somewhere between doubt and fear.

“I have never heard of that happening to someone,” said Quil, slowly and quietly. “And I hope I never do.”

He resumed walking, crushing the sprouting grass underfoot.

* * *

Remarkably, Quil procured food for them as they walked. Following the question and answer session, he quickly busied himself scanning the thick growth, looking for something. After a few minutes, he gave a soft exclamation and dove in headfirst. Soon he returned with some uprooted plants clasped between his two forelimbs and a grin under his snout. Quil introduced the plant as 'Diglett's Stash', and explained that the chunky purple roots could be eaten. He even shared how to identify the surface part of the plant so that Squirtle could learn how to find food in the future.

Squirtle gave them a sniff, and after devouring two of the plants' roots, he agreed that they could definitely be eaten. The roots weren't bad at all, though they were rather dry.

“Where's the next stop on the way to the volcano, Quil?” asked Squirtle as they enjoyed their meal.

“Whoops, sorry, it slipped my mind that you must have no idea where we're going!” Quil chuckled abashedly, then waved his snout tip in a broad arc. “This is Blind Prairie. At home, I wondered why it was called that.”

“And now you know,” finished Squirtle, with another bite of the Diglett's Stash. “Unless you're a Pokémon that's about four feet tall, you're blind among these grasses.”

“Ha, exactly! Blind Prairie is huge, as we saw. I'm guessing it will take us more than a couple of days to cross. But the Plusle to that Minun is that we actually have options of where to go this time! Two towns are coming up. The first one is called Blindhollow. I don't know much about it, other than it's known for its Seed Nursery. The Pokémon there grow seeds with special properties.”

Squirtle's interest was piqued. “Special properties? Special how?”

“Remember the berries I was trying to find to reverse your Paralysis when we were in the forest? Certain seeds can have similarly helpful effects, but most varieties aren't easy to find growing wild. I've only tried one or two kinds, myself.”

“Got it. What about the second town?”

“The second town is,” he appeared to look into the sky for inspiration. “Cavetown! Yeah, I think it's called Cavetown.”

“Cavetown,” repeated Squirtle flatly.

“Cavetown,” Quil confirmed.

“My vote is for Blindhollow, because it has a real name.”

Quil smiled in that hard-to-read way of his. “The choice we have is whether or not to skip Blindhollow. The town is supposed to be a little bit out of the way, so it would take us longer to get to Iyrodenin. An extra day, maybe two. We might find Blindhollow to be a cool place, though.” Quil did not sound enthusiastic about the prospect. Squirtle guessed that he wanted zero delays on his journey in order to finish as soon as possible.

More importantly, thought Squirtle, visiting another town means a greater likelihood of finding a Psychic technique user that can help me get to my hidden memories. Squirtle did not voice this thought, since he had no desire to twist the route of Quil's journey to his own ends.

But isn't the issue of who I am and where I came from more important than a rite of passage for Quil? Besides, what's a day or two in a journey as long as Quil's? Last night, I planned out the most logical course of action to follow. That plan prioritized determining who I am and what happened to me, above all else. Even if it means leaving Quil. I have a duty to myself, and who knows who or what else, to figure this out. My transformation could have been an accident, but it could also have been planned, deliberate, and maybe even important. I can't let Quil choose my path.

However, the longer Squirtle reviewed his thoughts, the more uneasy he felt. Almost like an anxiety attack, a hand was squeezing his chest, slowing him down and making his breaths labored. Trying to persuade Quil to stop in Blindhollow, or even splitting from Quil to go by himself; both felt wrong now. His plan may have authority and the strength of logic, but his emotions did not take orders.

“Thinking hard, eh?” asked Quil.

“Yes, but I decided my preference.” Squirtle forced the words out. “Let's skip Blindhollow, and just go to Cavetown.”

Quil jumped a couple of feet into the air with a: “Fantastic! I don't want to make this trip any longer than it has to be, so I'm happy you also want to get to Cavetown as soon as possible!”

For Squirtle's part, he wasn't sure if he felt pleased or dismayed at the decision. He no longer felt physically uneasy, anyway. At least I was right that this would make Quil happy, he thought.

“Since we're skipping Blindhollow,” said Quil, “we can take a shortcut. We have to leave this path, cut northeast through the tall grass for about an hour, and then we should hit another path like this one. If we take that new path, it'll take us more directly to Cavetown. Or so I've been told. The directions I've been given have been perfectly accurate so far though!”

“Okay, but when do cut off into the grass? Now?”

“The tall grass is supposed to thin out once we get farther from the Karp river. So let's take the shortcut once it's not so dense, okay?”

The sun had barely made it any closer to the horizon when the landscape began to subtly change, just as Quil expected. Soon the grass on either side of the path wasn't growing quite as tall nor as crowded. Still, it was too tall for either to see over without jumping. Squirtle could not determine whether the grasses were of different species that had shorter lengths, or if they were not as prosperous because of their distance from a water source.

Together, the pair stopped and faced the grassy 'wall' of the path. Squirtle felt the nag of déjà vu, and recalled leaving the clearing in which he first awoke with Quil.

“We're more likely to run into a wild once we enter the grasses,” said Quil morosely. “I wouldn't want to dig my burrow on the path, if it were me.”

Squirtle, in an effort to instill confidence in the both of them, said, “We'll be fine. Just remember: you promised to show me your Fire technique in our next battle!”

“I will. You have to do your part too, though; don't take a whole minute to decide to attack, if you don't mind!”

Squirtle grimaced. “Fair point. This time, I won't hesitate. Not now that you've explained in full what battling means.”

And not now that I know how to shoot a high-powered stream of water at anyone that picks a fight with us!


	10. Inferior

Squirtle and Quil nosed into the arid grasses that formed the side of their path through Blind Prairie. Visibility dropped as it had in Root Forest. Thankfully, the going remained physically easy for his new body to handle, once again. Besides the noise of the pair brushing and stomping through the brush, Squirtle could hear infrequent Pokémon sounds around the Prairie. They were a blessing and a curse, making Squirtle feel less claustrophobic and alone, but also more anxious of bumping into a wild Pokémon.

“How come none of this grass is igniting from your fire, Quil?” asked Squirtle.

“Some of the blades might get singed, but I'm careful to keep the damage to a minimum. The plants have to be really dry in order to actually start a--” Quil ended his reply abruptly.

Squirtle glanced over to see what was the matter, and saw Quil stopped in his tracks, quickly curling up into a ball. Past the flames of his back, Squirtle saw a four-legged creature a few steps away. It, too, looked as if it had halted mid-step. The Pokémon was significantly taller than Quil and Squirtle, but not large. Its short, lilac-colored fur gave it a streamlined appearance, complemented by a delicate snout and inscrutable almond-shaped eyes. Squirtle could see a red gem embedded in its forehead as they regarded each other. A forked tail extended into the air behind it.

“Here we go!” shouted Quil as he uncurled into a crouch, his flames growing in intensity.

Seeing Quil prepare, Squirtle felt his own battle spirit rise. He faced the Pokémon, which he recalled as an Espeon, and began to think of what he should do.

The Espeon, on the other hand, reacted immediately. Its front legs bent and its tail waved back and forth above it. Squirtle felt his gaze drawn to the hypnotizing motion instead of the Espeon's menacing crouch.

The next moment, the Espeon had leaped high into the air, over Quil, and clearing the grasses. Lithely, it landed crouched in front of Squirtle. He stumbled backward, trying to remember the motions to produce that stream of water so he could defend himself, but the situation was all too like the Zigzagoon closing the distance to Tackle him. Unwanted fear spiked within him, wrecking his train of thought.

The Espeon slammed its shoulders and chest into Squirtle's face, sending him somersaulting backward. The grass whipped at his shell and skin before he slowed to a stop. The hit was powerful, probably far stronger than anything he could have produced, but Squirtle felt he could still fight. He hastily stood, spinning three hundred and sixty degrees to find Quil and the Espeon.

About twenty feet away, the Espeon was facing Quil now. To his credit, Quil was already inhaling as preparation for some attack. Squirtle could see the glow of a fire within Quil's little mouth. Squirtle chose not to wait for Quil to finish his attack before starting to move. He darted back toward the Espeon.

Before Quil could let loose the fire, the Espeon had moved. It lunged, closing the meager distance to Quil almost faster than Squirtle's eyes could follow. The grass in its path was shredded and whirled aside, like autumn leaves from a tree struck by a gust of wind. Its forepaws were suddenly on Quil's head, and he was pushed backward onto his back – a very quick attack. As he was struck, or perhaps because of it, Quil exhaled forcefully. What looked like a hundred red-hot embers shot from his mouth. But because of the Espeon's lunge, the embers sprayed skyward in an arc, instead of at the Espeon's face. The embers lost their hot glow before they drifted down to the ground.

I have to forget about planning an attack if I want to be useful, thought Squirtle as he ran. Just like with the Zigzagoon, and just like when Keel pretended to attack me!

With that, Squirtle focused on the Espeon, and imagined how it would feel to unleash a torrent of his water into its pretty face. It thought it was so quick, so graceful. He'd show it!

Squirtle allowed himself to fall to his hands while keeping his gaze dead-set on the Espeon. As he touched down, he squeezed muscles at the back of his throat, and felt his mouth take an 'O' shape. Water blasted out. Initially, the stream was messy, unfocused. Squirtle made quick adjustments to his head position and mouth shape, then more fine adjustments as he continued his Water Gun attack. The force of it threatened to push his head back, but due to his stance on all fours, he felt stable. He gripped the dirt with all of his claws.

The Espeon's head snapped to face the sound of rushing water, but even it was too slow to avoid being struck. At first, it faced the unfocused stream of water head on and held its ground. Its lilac-hued fur darkened to violet as it was doused. Once Squirtle concentrated the stream, the Espeon could no longer hold its ground. Its back legs lost their footing and it fell with a 'Yip!' of dismay.

Squirtle could only keep up the attack for about four seconds before the muscles gave out. He allowed his head to sag as he recovered.

“Wow, good hit!” cried Quil, before taking another deep breath in preparation. The words had the effect of pulling Squirtle partially back to his reasoning aspect. He acknowledged the words with a smug smile. His technique was impressive.

Unfortunately, Squirtle could see the dripping Espeon already tensed once more and eying Quil for another attack. Despite its wet state, Squirtle did not think it looked any worse for wear. The Espeon was tough for certain. Quick, too. Every move it made was fast.

“Quil!” called Squirtle. “Spray the embers in a horizontal arc in front of you so it can't dodge!”

Squirtle feared that it would otherwise nimbly dodge the attack, as it had already proven how quick on its feet it was. Quil gave a slight nod in response, if the nod was not part of his attack's wind-up. Once again his mouth was glowing slightly.

The Espeon dashed toward Quil, and water droplets from its coat spattered the grass blades.

Quil's body compressed to exhale his mouth's contents. True to Squirtle's command, Quil started the attack with his mouth pointing about forty five degrees to the right, and he arced to his left. The embers were not evenly spread in the arc, but Squirtle figured it was his first try doing a modification to his attack like that.

The Espeon remarkably still managed to avoid getting burned. Seeing the way Quil's head was tracking, it jumped high once again. Because Quil's technique was aimed in a wider spread horizontally, complete coverage of the middle area in front of him was sacrificed. The Espeon's hind paws cleared the sizzling embers unscathed.

Quil scrambled away once he saw the Espeon avoid the embers. As it returned to the ground, Quil was moving in Squirtle's direction, panting with the effort. Squirtle could relate to his exertion; he himself did not feel up to producing another controlled and accurate Water Gun.

Quil came to a stop at Squirtle's side, and squeezed out some words between breaths. “Keep it up, Squirtle!” Squirtle tried to return to his feral fighting mindset once again, so that he could effectively contribute without fear or over-thinking clouding up his head. 

The Espeon's gem began to gleam. Red light churned and roiled within, becoming a baleful glow. The Espeon's tail curled upward, expectantly. Its dark gaze became half-lidded.

What was happening to it? Squirtle could not remember anything like this. For a moment, he was dumbfounded.

The very air in front of the Espeon rippled. Squirtle's view of his foe distorted, as circular waves of...something propagated through the air toward him. Was the air between them bending and warping, or was the Espeon doing something to his vision?

A split second later, the circular distortions crossed the distance to reach Quil and Squirtle. As it reached him, Squirtle's brain felt like it had been bashed against his skull. A weird, and unpleasant sensation. Simultaneously, he was forced backward away from the Espeon. Unlike any attack he had hitherto experienced however, this attack felt like it came from within him, as opposed to a physical blow. The Espeon had blasted the inside of his head, and that had somehow driven him backward, too. The attack was confusing; Squirtle did not know what to make of it.

His shell back thudded into the ground, and he heard Quil give an 'Oof!' next to him. Squirtle's view of the grass and sky grew unfocused for a moment. He could not see straight. He wiggled his arms, legs, and tail in the air, but found them unexpectedly weak. He was tired, very tired. The scutes of his belly rose and fell quickly with his breathing. He could see them, when his eyes finally decided to behave.

The Espeon sauntered over to them, looking wet but not very winded. Squirtle figured he should blast it with his Water Gun again, but that was a fleeting dream. His strength was gone. Judging by Quil's lack of reaction, he, too, was weak.

The Espeon's gem was dim once more, and its eyes fully open. With one paw, it flipped Squirtle back onto his hands and feet. Squirtle sighed in relief, feeling inexplicably more at ease than when he was lying on his shell back.

“Leave,” the Espeon commanded. Its voice was aloof and feminine. She looked over and past them, as if looking at the lowly Pokémon below her would be a chore.

Obediently, Quil began to amble unsteadily away in the direction from which they'd come. His head drooped.

“Please,” Squirtle croaked. “You're a Psychic. Can you...read my memories? I can't...remember anything.”

The Espeon fixed an eye on him where he groveled in the dirt. She sniffed. “Don't be ridiculous. Leave.” Light began to swim in her gem again, threateningly.

“Squirtle,” said Quil in an imploring tone.

Squirtle craned his head up. “Please. It's the most...the most important thing...in the world to me. Please. I have to know...who I am...why I'm here...”

“Idiot,” muttered the Espeon as she half-closed her eyes once more.

The air shimmered in a circular pattern in front of her face. Squirtle squeezed his eyes closed and mentally braced for the Psychic assault, but it did him no good. The technique entered his mind with no resistance, and Squirtle again felt his brain rattling against its cage. Simultaneously his head was ground into the dirt by the invisible force from above. His mind couldn't take the pressure. As he blacked out, he could hear the Espeon turn tail and stroll away.

* * *

“No...it's a Psychic. Quil. A Psychic. It can help...maybe help me...remember,” Squirtle mumbled.

He was partly stumbling, partly walking back to the path. Quil was on his left side, supporting Squirtle with his body. No doubt he could have used support too though, since they were both capable of only a sluggish pace.

Squirtle teetered on the brink of consciousness, neither lucid nor unconscious. The image of the Espeon's upturned nose and haughty gaze kept rising to the forefront of his mind. It competed for his attention with the blurry impressions of the Prairie around him, and the darkness at the edge of his vision.

Quil said nothing, and Squirtle heard his tired breathing come under control. By the time they emerged back onto the path, Quil seemed much closer to himself. Squirtle, on the other hand slumped to the ground lethargically. He wanted to cry, felt he ought to. Even now, his one chance at remembering who he was and what he should do was probably moving even further away from him. Squirtle's body was too drained to cry. As his despair settled into sorrow, his body could only recuperate.

“We'll find another one,” offered Quil. “Sooner or later. There are only so many Types. Psychics may be uncommon, especially around here, but it's only a matter of time Squirtle. Don't surrender when you can still fight.”

Squirtle lacked the energy to have any reaction to the proverb. He closed his eyes and devoted his energy to recovering. Relax all your muscles, and focus on your breathing. In, and out. The aches are nothing, they'll fade. In, and out.

“Too bad neither of us is a Planter,” said Quil. “Then maybe we could miraculously grow an Oran bush. Wouldn't that be nice.” He rested his snout on the ground in front of him. Squirtle hadn't noticed, but his fires were out. The bare red patches on his back were visible. That probably happened when he was feeling physically spent, Squirtle guessed.

“Planter means Grass-type?”

“Mm,” grunted Quil.

The sun continued its relentless march toward the horizon while the pair rested in the path. After approximately half an hour of focused recovery, the time was halfway from noon to sunset, and Squirtle felt he could battle again if he had to. The recovery was incomplete, but Quil said that a good night's sleep always fixed the day's aches and pains.

“Let's try again,” said Squirtle, standing.

“What? Are you crazy? We were destroyed by that Espeon!” Quil complained.

“She was one Pokémon. A fluke. An aberration.”

Quil paused. “Oh. I know what this is about.” He made a small sigh. “Squirtle, I'm sorry, but it's unlikely that we'll run into that Espeon again, or any Psychic-type for that matter. Those folks are few and far between, especially in a grassland like this. Trust me, I would know; I grew up in Steady Steppe. Much more common are your Flames like me, your Flyers, Normals, Planters, Bugs, --”

“No, you misunderstand,” said Squirtle. “I'm not hoping to miraculously run into another Psychic.”

Quil tilted his head. “Oh. But. Why do you want to try again, exactly?”

Squirtle clenched his little hands into fists. “I see now what I have to do to get the answers I want. If this is a test, it's a good one. One I can handle. I'm going to become stronger until I get the respect and power I need. I won't be treated like a fool or a helpless baby for much longer.”

Quil let out a slow breath. His voice sounded especially quiet now that they were out of the thick brush. “You sound just like everyone else.”

“Hm?”

“You want to fight to become the strongest so that everyone you meet will respect you and listen to you. Right?”

Squirtle shook his head. “No, this is different, Quil. This is a means to a justified end. I don't want to be the...biggest, baddest 'mon around. I just want answers to the hundred questions in my mind.”

Quil seemed to think it over. Eventually, he smiled slightly. “I can't begrudge you that. I can only begin to imagine what it must be like not knowing who I am or what I should do.”

Squirtle relaxed his uptight posture, pleased that Quil could sympathize with how he felt.

“But before we go, maybe we could talk about...strategy.” Quil began to draw little circles in the dirt with one foot.

“Strategy,” Squirtle repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“Remember yesterday when I said 'Your head thinks, your gut knows'? That's how Pokémon on my side of Root Forest think about battling. It doesn't matter what plans you make or ideas you have, because in a battle, you have to do what you feel is right. What you do is a feeling that you have in your gut. If you follow that feeling, and you're tough enough, then you're bound to win.”

That's definitely not optimal, thought Squirtle. Strategy is required to win any contest that has depth, such as a fight between Pokémon.

“That's the way I used to think, too. Now I'm not sure,” Quil continued. “We could not have escaped to the ferry from the Karprest dock without your tactical thinking. And against the Espeon, the idea to use my Ember in an arc was frankly ingenious.”

“It didn't work,” Squirtle commented.

“It might have. I've never curved the move like that, let alone practiced the move at all. She could have been burned a tiny bit had I been faster.”

Thinking further, Squirtle said, “You forced her to jump upward, too, now that I think about it. She would have gotten a face full of embers if she hadn't.”

“Er, what does it matter, exactly, that she was forced to jump?” Quil asked tentatively.

“Well, that's something we can use next time. If you use that Ember technique just like that, the next action you take is to dodge forward. That way, if our opponent jumps upward and toward you, they'll land where you were previously. Then they'll have their back to you upon landing, and you have extra time to prepare your next move. Or if they just jump straight up, you can use the dodge to close the distance and Tackle them when they're off balance.”

Squirtle's eyes were lively, picturing a battle in the path that only he could see. “Also, it helps me. When I see the fire in your mouth, I'll know our opponent is probably going to jump upward. I can then take time to line up a Water Gun right where they're going to land.”

Quil tucked his snout slightly, and his brow rose. The expression looked like an enigmatic smile, or some expression of smugness.

“I already know you have to be from somewhere very far away, Squirtle, somewhere the customs, sayings, and way of life are really unusual. But there's something else about you.” Quil chuckled. “Who else thinks like that? What other Pokémon would say what you just said?”

Squirtle felt too flustered to respond. How much had Quil figured out? Was it that obvious that he was not a Pokémon?

“There's more to you than I can see, isn't there Squirtle?”

Squirtle dropped his gaze, trying to form words that would placate Quil. His face felt flushed.

Quil's tone sobered. “I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you embarrassed. Really, I'm sorry. Anyway, if my using Ember in that way truly does so much for us like you say, then I'll try it again, weak as it is.”

“No!” said Squirtle, grabbing at the topic change like it was water in the desert. “Your Fire technique was great, just like I thought! If her hind paws had been hit, I bet it would have done more than my Water Gun. You say it's called Ember?”

“Yep. That's what Flames call it, since you exhale the fresh embers from a fire. Don't take mine as the typical Ember though; it's weak and inconsistent. My brother's Ember, if he ever chose to use a basic Fire-type move like that, would be a better example.”

Squirtle just couldn't wrap his head around it. Why did Quil still think his Fire attack was so worthless? Squirtle had seen it in action twice now, and each time it was dazzling and looked dangerous. Come to think of it, Quil always mentioned his brother, or other Fire-types, each time they discussed it. Perhaps Quil had an inferiority complex. While he was growing up, he was always comparing himself to everyone else, but everyone else was more experienced and had more powerful attacks. So Quil eventually grew to accept that he was, and always would be, the weakest.

A depressing theory. I hope it's not accurate, but it's all I have to go off currently. Once he sees his Ember actually hit a weaker Pokémon, maybe I'll have better luck convincing him that his fire's not weak.

Quil pointed his snout at the grassy 'wall' of the path. “Anyhow, if you still want to go back in there, just tell me any strategies you think up during a battle. I'll do my best to follow up.”

“Won't our opponent hear what I say each time, and thus expect any strange tactics we attempt?”

Quil seemed to smile again. “Squirtle, you don't see it yet. No Pokémon I know of, living in the wild or not, thinks like you do. During a battle, we don't weigh our options. We're focused on using our attacks as quickly, accurately, and powerfully as we can. We usually don't even talk, especially one on one, because words are needless and concentration is so important. The instinctual drives during a battle certainly don't help.”

“You'll be able to hear me though, and respond accordingly?”

“I'll try,” affirmed Quil. “Like I said yesterday, we're just passing through, so the instincts aren't as...engrossing. In case you haven't noticed,” finished Quil quietly.

Squirtle laughed once. He had certainly noticed. His issue, however, wasn't resisting the 'instincts', it was the reverse: getting into that state of mind during a battle. Squirtle could analyze and strategize just fine, but doing what Quil said all Pokémon did so naturally - performing their attacks - was difficult for him. Although, during the battle with the Espeon, falling into that mindset was not as challenging as with the Zigzagoon. Squirtle was getting the hang of it.

With strategic preparations complete, Squirtle once again imagined the Espeon's supercilious glare and demeaning tone of voice. The Psychic he needed had been standing inches from him, and refused to help him. Squirtle needed to be more powerful. His pride and willpower rose, and some kind of bestial vocalization almost escaped his throat. He was ready to fight. At least, until he was face to face with another Pokémon intent on physically harming him.

“I'm ready to try the shortcut to Cavetown again,” declared Squirtle. “Are you?”

In answer, Quil joined him in pushing forward into the Prairie proper.

* * *

Squirtle and Quil tramped along for a full minute less than their last foray before encountering another Pokémon.

CLONG!

Squirtle felt something perfectly hard strike his upper shell back and send him sprawling forward. A metallic reverberation continued behind him for a couple of seconds before fading. He allowed his belly to impact the ground and skid a bit before turning back on all fours. Rising to two legs allowed him a better view of the hostile Pokémon through the grass.

Tall, very tall! The Pokémon was at least three times his height. In another life Squirtle might have stood eye to eye with it, but as a diminutive Squirtle, this Pokémon was monstrous. How could they beat up this giant? Its gleaming maroon exterior actually sparkled in the afternoon sunlight, and its four wings were silvery instead of translucent. Three horn-like growths extended above its streamlined head that featured a pair of unemotional eyes, but no obvious nostrils or mouth.

The highlight of the Pokémon's body, in Squirtle's eyes, had to be its fearsome pincers. Like the rest of it, the pincers appeared to be made of steel. No doubt they could squeeze or cut most anything encountered in the wild. The Pokémon opened and closed them slowly like a Kingler. Squirtle guessed it was anticipating a certain Cyndaquil in one pincer, and a Squirtle in the other. The thought redoubled his desire to battle.

The Pokémon reminded him of a red-colored Scyther with some features changed around. Pincers instead of scythes, for example. After a moment, the species name came to him. Scizor.

The Scizor's attention was not on him, but Quil, who was already closing for a Tackle. The Scizor bent like the grasses around him to avoid the strike, but Quil was already springing from the ground. The Scizor took the hit on its equivalent of a hip, which sent it down on one knee-equivalent to regain balance.

“Quil, as we discussed!” shouted Squirtle as his companion returned to ground. Following that, Squirtle concentrated on preparing his Water Gun. Falling into the right frame of mind was relatively easy with the emotions he had been feeling. On all fours, he readied himself to let muscle memory take over once Quil had used his Ember.

Thankfully, Quil must have heard and comprehended Squirtle's words, as he took a posture similar to Squirtle's. Some of the smaller grasses rippled toward Quil's snout tip with the force of his inhalation. Fire was visible in his mouth as his head reared back, as if to sneeze. Squirtle knew better. So did the Scizor, for it halted in order to crouch slightly, ready to dodge.

Quil swept his head horizontally in an arc, ensuring Ember coverage of the entire ground in front of him. The spray was more uniform this time, with an approximately equal concentration of embers in every segment of the arc. Squirtle might have felt proud, had he not been in his combative state of mind.

The Scizor jumped high. Unfortunately, it completely escaped the touch of the hot cinders just as the Espeon had. Its wings buzzed with motion as it ascended, but seemed to have no effect on its jump height. The Scizor raised one clenched pincer, looking intent on striking Quil as it landed.

Quil, as per their strategy, had immediately dived forward once he finished his technique. Squirtle could see the Scizor's eyes narrow as it tried to follow Quil's motion with a punch from its closed pincer. The angle of the required punch looked terribly awkward, as the Scizor would have to jab between its legs and backward some in order to hit the forward-diving Quil. It aborted its punch, lacking a good angle.

The Scizor straightened, and began turning around to face Quil. Just then, Squirtle's Water Gun plowed into his shiny abdomen. The Scizor took a step back with one leg, planted it, and braced against the stream with both pincers raised protectively. The Pokémon was silent and steadfast through the ordeal, though when Squirtle could no longer hold the stream and his Water Gun finished, the Scizor looked weakened. Its wider stance and lower-hanging pincers were the telling signs.

“Yes!” Squirtle yelled triumphantly. With his attack complete, he could not stop the rush of jubilation. His plan had worked, had worked perfectly! The Ember arc, the jump, the dodge, the perfectly aimed Water Gun. Squirtle reckoned there were few sources of satisfaction that could compare to seeing a plan work out just as intended.

The Scizor used his primed stance facing Squirtle to propel himself forward after the attack stopped, and simultaneously avoided Quil's next Tackle. Squirtle yelped, cursing his early celebration. His mind did not know how to react. He had no chance of dodging.

One of the Scizor's open pincers slashed across his face. Squirtle did not feel the first cut very much. The second one though, by the opposite pincer, slashed across the same spot. Squirtle staggered backward, trying to see the pincers as they came at him. The Scizor was evidently quite practiced at this technique, however. The third cut landed before Squirtle could whip his head out of the way. That third cut was the most injurious of the lot. A fourth might knock him out.

Squirtle thought he saw the fires of Quil's back approaching the Scizor from behind, but could not tell how far away Quil was while he was focusing on the Scizor's cuts. Frantically, Squirtle hoped Quil could connect with their foe before the Scizor cut him again.

Squirtle barely avoided the fourth cut by the Scizor. The wind of the passing pincer threatened to dry out his right eye. Squirtle blinked twice quickly to re-moisten it. The Scizor itself blinked after his last cut missed, and immediately stopped his furious cutting. Instead, it raised one pincer with its elbow cocked back, as it had when descending upon Quil.

The Scizor was far taller than Squirtle, and had matching reach. Dodging a carefully aimed punch would be tough. Squirtle dropped to all fours, ready to throw himself in the appropriate direction to dodge.

Squirtle heard his salvation before he could see it. Quil's fiery exhalation was becoming a familiar sound. The Scizor's neck arched backward, and it flung its arms out to the side in agony. A ghastly hiss escaped from its now-apparent mouth – the first sound it had made. Squirtle could see the air around and above the Scizor's back wavering with the Ember's heat, and he cringed with sympathized pain.

The Scizor fell to its knee joint and pincers. The Fire-type move had clearly taken much out of the Scizor. Still, it began to rise not a second later. The Pokémon's head turned around to face Quil. Squirtle could not see what look it gave him, but he imagined it to be livid.

“Get it!” cried Quil.

Obliging, Squirtle launched himself from all fours, to deliver a Tackle of his own. All he Tackled was air and grass. The Scizor had dashed at Quil with the speed of revenge. By the time Squirtle had landed, the Scizor was striking Quil with a closed pincer. The heavy metal slammed into Quil from above. Quil was pressed to his belly by the blow. Fortunately, he stood up again immediately, and did not seem much weakened by the punch.

The Scizor switched tactics - whether on purpose or by chance, Squirtle did not know. Next, the Scizor opened its left pincer, and stretched it behind its body. At the same time, Quil inhaled to stoke his fire for an Ember no doubt, and Squirtle took a few running steps to prepare for a Tackle. He was more than reluctant to attempt a Water Gun while Quil was trying to dodge around the Scizor. Hitting Quil with a Water-type move had to be the quickest route to defeat.

Quil almost spat his embers directly into the Scizor, but it was too quick. Its pincer swung in a low under-handed arc, close to the ground. The powerful slash cleaved through a few dozen blades of grass on the way, making a cutting sound that might have been elegant in another situation. The pincer sliced across Quil's body and head. He fell to the side, coughing fiery particles. The Scizor held its pose: left arm aloft after the finished swing, right arm back for balance, and legs bent to get closer to Quil's height.

Squirtle counted on his Squirtle body to complete the running-jump-Tackle procedure, as he did not consciously know the best way to do it. He imagined the feeling of his shell pummeling the Scizor's exterior, and tried to think of nothing else, least of all what his legs were doing.

Just like at the beginning of the battle, the Scizor took the Tackle on the equivalent of its hip, and its knee joint met the ground for support. Squirtle grunted with the impact of his shell against the hard Scizor as another metallic CLONG sounded. He hoped this Tackle finished off the Scizor, as the repeated cuts to his face had pushed Squirtle close to his limit.

A quick glance at Quil revealed that the Cyndaquil was out for the count. When Squirtle got another good look at the Scizor, his hopes fell. The Tackles were not doing much. The Scizor had already raised an open pincer for another forceful slash. While its sloppier stance indicated that it was probably as unsteady on its feet as Squirtle felt, Squirtle doubted he would have enough time to use another Water Gun before the Scizor pummeled him with its pincers.

He was right. The Scizor whipped its arm past Squirtle, allowing its open pincer to slash Squirtle's arm and shell. The world lost its orientation. Squirtle felt grass slapping against him, then the dirt against his tail and the left side of his body. He guessed he was lying awkwardly on his side. His bleary vision was of no assistance. Squirtle pushed outward with his left leg and arm, and suddenly found himself on his belly. The abruptness of the transition sent waves of dimness through his head. He could tell he was blacking out.

At least we almost beat the Scizor, thought Squirtle. The plan worked, too.

A few feet away from Squirtle's face, the dark red form of the Scizor made some gesture with its head and pincers. Squirtle could not see clearly enough to tell what it was.

At this rate, I'll be strong enough to find my answers in no time.

Content with that thought, Squirtle allowed himself to pass into darkness.


	11. Theory

Following his blackout by the Scizor's pincer slash, Squirtle was unaware of Blind Prairie around him for some amount of time. How long, he could not say. He woke to the feel of Quil's little forelimb prodding his arm repeatedly. Squirtle opened his eyes, blinking a few times.

Again, the Prairie was quiet. The Scizor was gone, leaving only Squirtle and Quil. The hues of the sky were beginning to shift toward indigo, promising the moon a dark sky that would accentuate her white brilliance.

Squirtle stood, and groaned from the combination of dizziness and weakness throughout his body. Standing up so quickly was a mistake. How he felt was of course to be expected; he should have known better.

Nonetheless, Squirtle tipped Quil a companionable smile. “Perhaps one day I'll receive the honor of waking you up, instead of the other way around.”

“Ha! You've got some catching up to do – I'm as tough as the jaw of a Steelix!” Quil returned. “Even so, we should get out of here. We don't want to fight in this state.” Quil looked just as weary as Squirtle felt.

They examined the erstwhile battlefield to figure out where they had come from, then retraced their steps to the path. Squirtle could not help but feel a jolt of disappointment. The path was not something he wanted to see again. They were supposed to succeed, and push all the way through the shortcut. The path was failure, weakness.

“Was it close?” asked Quil, as he lay down from belly to chin.

“The battle? Yes, it was very close! Near the end, our opponent was almost wobbling on its legs. One more Water Gun would have finished it, but it was too fast, and too close to me.”

“Krow's luck,” cursed Quil. “ I hoped it was weak enough for you to finish off. My Ember really, really hurt it. I could tell. It must have been a Bug, Planter, Steel, or Freezer. Those are the Types that are weak to Fire.”

“The Pokémon was a Scizor: Bug-Type, I believe. Steel, too, judging by its skin and pincers. They felt and sounded like they were made of metal, at least partially.”

“Oh, you recognized the species? I didn't.” Quil held a thoughtful silence for a moment. “Wait, how do you know a species that I don't? Is your memory coming back?!”

“No, no. I wish. Scizor is just one of the species I can remember. The name and sometimes other facts come to me when I see a Pokémon. The sight jogs my memory. Not every Pokémon though; I've seen some that I don't quite recognize. And I can't recall any specific memories from my life, as usual.”

“You must have lived somewhere that had a Scizor population. There aren't any in Steady Steppe. I'd never seen one before.” Quil lifted his head. “Hey, you could figure out where you came from by making a list of all the Pokémon you know about, and finding out what region has those species!”

Squirtle eyes widened. Would that work? Upon initial examination, the idea certainly had merit. Squirtle thought more about it, but soon realized that that strategy would not help him. He knew he had learned about Pokémon from second-hand sources. He had vague recollections of reading about and seeing images of Pokémon, whether in books or...on screens? He'd of course learned about Pokémon by word of mouth, too. Any of those would confound the relationship between knowing about a Pokémon and that Pokémon living nearby.

“Great idea,” said Squirtle, “but I have the sense that I learned about Pokémon from sources that weren't first-hand. I can't pin down where I lived, since I know Pokémon from all over.”

“Aw, really? That's a shame,” Quil said. “We'll figure it out, I hope. Somehow, somewhere.”

Squirtle gave a small smile, though he felt glum after the surge of hope had faded.

“Onto sunnier topics,” said Quil. “Your plan worked perfectly, Squirtle! Every step happened just as you planned.”

“That's true, I had forgotten! I loved that the Scizor couldn't strike you as it landed, since you were passing underneath it. That was superb.” His voice exuded satisfaction and pride, but Squirtle did not care to hide the emotions. This was a time to celebrate their success. Quil smiled and nodded vigorously in agreement.

I'm improving at performing my attacks, too, thought Squirtle with delight. Granted, battling is often frightening or surprising enough to make me freeze up, but when I don't think and simply let myself go, I can't feel the fear as much. Once I know what the best plan of action is, I can let the moves that this body knows flow, almost unconsciously.

The welcome feeling of a new idea blossomed in his mind. That's it. That's how I can settle the issue of whether I should hold onto my past, and my rational thinking, or if I should act based on the impulses and emotions of this Pokémon body. I'll try to think clearly and use logic when I have to strategize, command, or prepare to enact a strategy. Then I'll release that thinking when I have to actually use my moves.

Not a complete solution, but it'll work for battling at least.

“If that Scizor were the tiniest bit weaker, I think we could have won,” Quil was saying. “We should keep using that strategy, as strange as it feels to say that.”

Squirtle nodded. “I agree. I'll try to keep the ideas coming too, assuming I'm lucky enough to think up some more. By the way, your Ember technique looked quite sharp to me. I wouldn't hesitate to use it as much as you can, if I were you.”

Quil huddled up tighter and partially hid his face. “Thanks. I'm just happy we're improving. It's nice.”

Why was Quil embarrassed about his Ember? Silly Cyndaquil. Squirtle was fortunate that he was traveling with a good-hearted Pokémon, regardless of battling skill level.

“There's one thing I don't understand though,” said Quil. “The two Pokémon we encountered were way more capable fighters than us. Since all Pokémon in an area tend to have roughly the same amount of fighting competence, it's reasonable to assume that if we ran into more 'mon, we would have been stomped again.”

“What's your point?” asked Squirtle, ever so slightly miffed at the reminder of their failures.

“Why did my father tell me I could use this shortcut? Why even mention it at all? He would have known that that I wouldn't be able to make it through.” He huffed. “Especially not alone. My dad didn't anticipate me traveling with someone else.”

Squirtle thought about it, but could uncover no reason. Quil was right. These Pokémon were relatively powerful, so Quil would have had a minimal chance of success on his own. Attempting to take the shortcut would likely result in failure, so there would be no point in Quil's father informing him about it.

“I don't know your father, so I don't know why he would do that. I can't figure it out.”

“It's strange,” said Quil. “The directions he's given me up until now have been perfect. The going was tough, but I did it. This shortcut though, this wasn't even possible.”

“We'll want to forgo any battles and stick to the path for the rest of Blind Prairie then, won't we?” asked Squirtle.

If we can't take a shortcut, that means we'll pass near Blindhollow and maybe find a Pokémon that can help me, thought Squirtle with guilty pleasure.

“Yeah, unless you want to walk into a battle knowing you're going to lose. Don't you worry Squirtle, this journey will see plenty of battling. We'll have more opportunities to improve our moves than there are Caterpie in a forest.” Quil said with an enthusiasm that sounded forced. Evidently his feelings about the journey he had to make were not changed by their minor battling success.

A companionable quiet settled over their little segment of the path. Squirtle focused on relaxing to regain his energy, but could not stop his mind from wandering, as usual. He visually inspected his body for the cuts and bruises of the previous battle. Remarkably, the portions of skin that he could see were whole, unblemished, and healthy. His shell, from what he could feel and see, was likewise unmarked. Squirtle ran his hands over his round face, touching gingerly the places he knew the Scizor's pincers had cut him. He found nothing but a mild tenderness to the area. Despite the sensation of being cut, the skin was not broken.

If one word was chosen to describe Pokémon in general, then 'durable' could easily be that word.

This time, more than a half hour passed before Squirtle had made a decent recovery. Whether that was due to a more severe defeat or because this was the second battle in a short time, Squirtle could only guess. Recovering from a battle was not something he was practiced at. Quil, naturally, looked accustomed to the process, and seemed to recover his strength a bit more rapidly than Squirtle.

Quil gazed outward to the sun nearing the horizon, and explained that he typically went to sleep at sunset, or shortly thereafter. Squirtle raised no objections. There was light left to travel down the path for a few minutes longer, but then Quil asked if Squirtle was fine stopping where they were for the night. The actual sunset was not visible, thanks to the height of the grasses, but the rapidly descending darkness was proof enough.

“Sure,” said Squirtle. “The landscape hasn't changed all day, so I doubt we're going to stumble upon a great place to sleep.”

He quickly banished all the frightening images that his mind produced when he thought of sleeping outside in the wilderness, far from any safe place. He'd decided that morning to give this life his best shot, so he'd be betraying himself by not living as traveling Pokémon did. Besides, he had nothing to steal, and he knew with certainty how resilient his form was to any attack.

When I'm analyzing battles, figuring out plans, pondering my past, I can hold onto who and what I was. Otherwise, I'm embracing this life. No looking back. Squirtle hoped his determination would last through whatever trials he might face. Another breakdown over his inner conflicts, like the one outside of Karprest's lodge, was unacceptable.

The previous day, Squirtle would not have agreed so casually to sleeping on the dirt path through some prairie. Now he had the knowledge, confidence, and determination to do so. He was a Pokémon now.

Mostly.

Quil pushed a few paces into the brush, then flattened some of the smaller blades of grass to clear a cozy space to curl up in. Squirtle followed suit, then lay on his belly next to Quil. Apparently, Quil did not usually extinguish his flames when he went to sleep. Both their orange glow and their warmth only extended a couple of feet away from his small body, so Squirtle scooted himself within that radius. Although it was not necessary, the warmth was nice. Squirtle knew fire in general could not do him much harm, so both parts of him were not afraid of his proximity to the flames.

As night fell, the sounds of the Pokémon in Blind Prairie that Squirtle and Quil had been hearing transitioned to new sounds made by nocturnal Pokémon. A chirping noise pervaded, and infrequently there was a strange clicking in the air. Squirtle focused on his and Quil's soft breathing to shut out the sounds.

“Tomorrow will be a full day of hiking. I hope it's easy, with no issues,” said Quil.

“Mm. Me too. A run-in with another Espeon would be fantastic though. One that's much less experienced at battling.”

Quil chuckled. “You never know. Maybe some snags as we travel wouldn't be too bad. I like this place. The grasses remind me of home.” He yawned, saying, “I feel more tired already.”

“See you tomorrow then,” said Squirtle.

“Yeah. Good night.”

Squirtle, too, was weary from the day's activities. He gave some more thought to a couple of the questions and conflicts he'd pondered during the day, but soon his sleepiness caught up to him. He allowed it to sweep him away.

* * *

Squirtle's dreams were of battling. They were half-remembered things, just images of the Scizor's impassive face, or the grass whirling around him as he was knocked away by some move. Emotion was what stuck with him the most. The thrill, the fear, the triumph, the disappointment. The thrill lingered most.

When Squirtle awoke, he feared his eyes were failing him. The world was dark, save for a horizontal oval of dim yellow-green light. His field of view was significantly reduced.

Wait. This has happened to me before. In the canyon, I think. Yes. Yes, I was...Oh!

Squirtle released the tension he felt at the core of his body. His arms, legs, tail, and head popped out of their respective entrances into his shell. They'd been compressed within his shell as he slept, so it felt marvelous to let them extend back outward into the world. He stretched his arms up and back, stretched his legs straight and lifted onto his tiptoes, and even stretched his tail by straightening it outward behind him. He stretched his neck, hidden within his shell, by rotating his head in every direction he could.

Last night, he was sure he'd fallen asleep on his belly with his head and all limbs out of his shell. Yet by the relief of stretching, he knew he'd been inside his shell all night. That meant only one thing.

I unconsciously withdrew into my shell. That didn't happen at Bein's, that first night. So I must be somehow allowing the natural inclinations of this body to express themselves more easily.

Before sleeping, he had told himself he was going to embrace his new life as a Squirtle. That line of thinking must have relaxed whatever reservations he'd had about accepting his status as a Squirtle. Also, yesterday he'd had two intense battles. That too could have loosened him up.

Eh, I guess this is a good sign. If I want to thrive as a Squirtle, I've got to behave more like a Squirtle. Sleeping like one is part of the package.

True to Quil's word about overnight recoveries, the mild aches and weariness from the previous day's battles had all but vanished. He was feeling one hundred percent, and ready to continue onward. The growing light and lively sounds of the morning beckoned.

Quil was still sleeping, his fire burning strong. Squirtle couldn't resist a brief grin: finally, he was the first one awake. Stepping next to Quil, he nudged his side a few times with a foot.

“Come on Quil, we've got that 'full day of hiking' to do. Up and at 'em!”

“What does that even mean,” Quil grumbled as he shifted around until the flames of his back were positioned where Squirtle was nudging him.

“Hey, that's cheating!” exclaimed Squirtle, as he hastily withdrew his foot.

Quil chuckled. “Almost got you.” Nevertheless, he soon stretched and stood.

Together, they pushed back out onto the path, and began anew their journey. Squirtle was momentarily amazed at how swiftly they'd set out once more. With no need for packing up supplies or breaking up a camp, the time taken between waking up and moving out passed in the blink of an eye. Squirtle had woken up two minutes earlier, and now he was on his way toward their next destination. Incredible.

For breakfast, Quil asked Squirtle to help him find another Diglett's Stash as they walked. Not only did they each find one of the edible roots within ten minutes, but Quil also managed to procure a stocky green plant that he said was 'a great find'. By squeezing the stem near the roots, Quil spread some of the milky orange fluid that seeped out onto each of their Diglett's Stash. The topping was tasty, with an almost spicy zing. All told, the breakfast was of course rustic, but Squirtle did not mind. The tastes were new to him.

The morning was, quite predictably, spent walking. Quil and Squirtle avoided all rustling in the grasses and Pokémon noises in order to keep the journey smooth. Despite Quil's declared nostalgic enjoyment of the Prairie, and Squirtle's ambition to become a tougher fighter, they pushed through the Prairie as steadily as possible. Quil wanted to reach his final destination, the volcano, as soon as he could, and Squirtle let Quil set the pace. It was Quil's Pilgrimage, not Squirtle's.

Other paths split off from or connected to the path which they traveled, though none was as wide. Squirtle wondered why they had not encountered other travelers, but chalked it up to an incompatibility with the Pokémon lifestyle. Pokémon were likely more interested in staying where they knew they could thrive, in a climate and habitat suited for them. He made another connection too, related to the upheaval of recent events, but he pushed it away before it fully formed.

Around noon, following another impromptu meal, the pair spotted some Pelipper flapping through the skies. These were different than other Flying-type Pokémon they had seen in the wild, since these were carrying a large woven bag. Three Pelipper in total were gripping the bag with their blue webbed feet. In addition to that load, it seemed they were each carrying cargo in their voluminous bills, since every bill was practically bulging from something within. The Pelipper paid the traveling pair no heed, continuing their straight course in a southwest direction. Squirtle wished he could tell what they were carrying.

“I heard that Pelipper are the Pokémon of choice for delivering mail and supplies,” explained Quil. “That must be what those ones are doing.”

“If they're acting as couriers and cargo transporters, they must be traveling between Pokémon settlements, right?” asked Squirtle.

“Probably,” agreed Quil.

“I hope they don't get harried by wild Pokémon on the way, since they're doing such a service,” Squirtle said.

“Me too. I'm not sure we should worry, though; they can probably take care of themselves if they're doing this job with such a big load. There are three of them, too.”

“True. Unless they run into just the wrong opponent.” Squirtle scrutinized the Pelipper, trying to recall information about them. “I think they're Water and Flying-type, so if they ran into, say, an Electric--” He cut himself off, not wanting to finish that sentence.

Quil said nothing more either. Now the walk was uncomfortably quiet.

Finally, Squirtle spoke again to break the silence. “We've been avoiding talking about it, Quil, but we have to sooner or later. Before we arrive at Cavetown would be best.”

“Yeah. We have avoided it. For good reason. It's unnatural, and it's horrible,” Quil muttered.

Even Squirtle could feel inside that Quil was correct. It was unnatural in a freakish and repulsive way. Talking about it only made it more grotesque, and more real, but it had to be done. Squirtle could not resist talking through a problem for long.

“You're certainly right; I can tell that it's wrong, too. Unfortunately it's somehow become reality.”

Quil looked to him with his eye-wrinkles. “Do you have any idea why Stolt and that Elekid were so ridiculously powerful?”

Squirtle shook his head. “I was hoping you could tell me. Nothing like this has ever happened before? One particular Type becoming mysteriously potent?”

Quil drew in a breath sharply in surprise. “What? You think the entire Electric Type is more powerful? No...no, that would be insane. It's impossible, anyway.”

Squirtle hesitated to disagree, seeing as he had no concrete evidence that the phenomenon was as pervasive as he thought. Hopefully with Quil's perspective they could come to a more solid conclusion.

“The thunderstorm. Everyone agrees that the thunderstorm was unprecedented. The storm was singularly intense, and brought no rainfall which is unusual for this temperate climate. Plus, there were frequent lightning strikes while it lasted. Lots of lightning, but no water, as if it were a lightning storm in the most literal sense of the words. The storm-clouds covered the entire sky; every visible inch of it was affected by the storm. That leads me to think that the storm did this to every Electric-type. Or maybe every Electric move.”

“Every Electric-type?” repeated Quil. “In the entire world?”

Squirtle wished he could make some equivalent of a shrug. “I don't know. All I know is that the extent of the storm was huge. Thanks to my memory loss, I don't know how big the world is, or where we would be on a map, so I can't say how large an area would be covered.”

“I don't know geography either, except the places around Steady Steppe.” Quil adopted a skeptical tone of voice. “Don't you think your theory is a bit, well, extreme? A storm that increases the intensity of Electric techniques? No offense, Squirtle, but I'm not sure I can fully believe that.”

“I don't believe it myself, either. It's just a theory. I'm trying to make connections, and that's the most obvious one right now. Nothing I can think of might cause a change in Electric capabilities except for the storm, and that storm spread far, far beyond Karprest. Therefore I think it prudent for us to operate under the assumption that every Electric we encounter will have the same level of Electric power that we saw in the Elekid.” He swallowed the fear he felt at reliving the previous morning's terrors. “And in Stolt.”

“Every Electric. Every Electric. That's crazy. It's impossible.” Quil was repeating himself. Squirtle frowned, concerned.

“If it's any consolation, any Electric we fight will probably go for me first since I'm obviously a...what's the word? A Wet? Not that I'm excited about the prospect.”

“If this phenomenon is actually affecting the entire world, or even a large area, that would change everything,” said Quil in a disbelieving tone, evidently lost in his thoughts. “The whole dynamic of battling would be thrown away. There would be no balance among the Types, no way to oppose an Electric user. If one of those bolts hits you, but you were a resistant Type, I bet you'd still be knocked senseless. We saw for ourselves how ludicrous those bolts were. The Karprest dock exploded because of a single bolt from an Elekid. I could feel the blast when I jumped.”

“Aren't Ground-type Pokémon totally immune to Electric attacks?” asked Squirtle.

Quil nodded. “At least, they were. I hope they still are, because if they aren't, then no Pokémon would be able to defeat a Zapper that used all its advantages correctly.”

“I would think being merely resistant to electricity is of no help because of the sheer power of electricity now, but Ground-types should still be immune. That could just be positive thinking. We just don't know enough right now, in the middle of this prairie.”

“Maybe it wore off,” suggested Quil. “Maybe it only happened yesterday, because that's when the storm was. Or maybe it was at its peak during the storm, but it's slowly dying away as time passes.”

“Maybe,” said Squirtle noncommittally. The phenomenon fading away seemed doubtful to him.

There was another piece of the puzzle that Squirtle did not intend on mentioning to Quil. His personal involvement. He had woken up right in the middle of the storm. If there was one place that was the most severely affected, it was Root Forest. The storm coincided with his awakening, with his memory loss, with his new life, as he called it. Squirtle believed himself to be the type to not accept coincidences, but to pry at them until a reason was revealed. The events were linked. They had to be. They gave his life meaning, a greater purpose. He was part of a mystery that had to be solved, one of grave importance. This storm had massive consequences for the future of everywhere it had affected. His reasoning told him that the effects of the storm would not blow over, as the storm itself had.

Telling Quil would probably make him only more skeptical of his frightening theory, and also Squirtle did not want to inflate his importance in Quil's eyes. Squirtle was merely along for the journey. He wasn't about to proclaim his supposed core role in solving the Electric mystery.

“What could have caused that storm?” Quil asked quietly. “Since it was so abnormal, it must have been triggered by something, right? Or maybe some 'mon.”

“Could it have been one of those super rare, hyper-powerful Pokémon? They're called Legendaries, right?”

Quil burst into laughter. Squirtle looked away and felt a telling warmth rise up to his face. How was he going to have his erroneous perspective corrected this time around?

A few seconds passed before Quil could regain control of himself. “Oh, wow, I'm sorry. I really am. I know that you lost your memory, it's just--” His voice rose in pitch and shattered due to another torrent of helpless giggles.

Squirtle sighed. “Please, keep laughing. This isn't a serious matter at all.”

Quil quieted more quickly this time. “I apologize. I can explain. Legendary Pokémon exist only in stories or myths. That's why they're called Legendary; they're only found in legends. So when you said that so seriously, it was really funny to me. Everyone knows, er, that is, most Pokémon are told stories when they're growing up, or they hear about them from other 'mon, but we all know they're not real. It's fun to pretend they are though, to explain where emotion, knowledge, and willpower come from, or to imagine if you could have your wishes granted.”

“If anything could prove that a Legendary was real, this storm would be that paradigm shift,” argued Squirtle.

Quil smiled in that way of his. “I would love it if a Legendary showed up one day, I really would. That would be amazing and cool and really interesting. Unfortunately, I think that I'm more likely to evolve into a Venusaur than a Legendary be proven to exist. Any 'mon you talk to would say the same thing. Except an Ivysaur, I guess.”

“Hm. Well, regardless of the storm's origin, its effects were present and real yesterday, and will probably persist for the foreseeable future as well,” declared Squirtle.

“The more I think about it,” said Quil after a moment, “the more I realize how significant the situation is. If you're right, Squirtle, than this will change more than just battling. If there are more power-hungry maniacs out there like Stolt, then they might force their fellow Pokémon to accept them as their leader, or bully 'mon around in other ways. When electricity can't be beaten, then eventually, 'mon will have no choice but to accept that they'll always be weaker.”

At that, Squirtle felt a note of righteous anger color his mood of general uncertainty and apprehension. How dare Pokémon like Stolt abuse their Type advantage to usurp power, to take control of an entire town? The situation was not at all fair. It was selfish, and a backward way of deciding who would lead.

“You're right, and it makes me angry. This has the potential to change battling, leadership, organization, life in the wilderness, life in settlements – practically everything I can think of involving Pokémon will be affected directly or indirectly by this imbalance. Unless you're an Electric-type, or maybe unless you can use Electric moves, then life will be taking a negative turn for you.”

“That's not right,” agreed Quil. “Urgh, if you're correct with your theory, then this really is horrible.”

“What will we encounter ahead?” Squirtle mused.

Now I wish I had been transformed into a Dugtrio, or an Excadrill. Those are Ground-type, if I'm not mistaken.

As the afternoon passed, and the pair continued their steady hike through the featureless Prairie, Squirtle began to feel fidgety. Every hour was just like the last. The journey got to the point where a moderate twist or turn in the path was a highlight that made that hour stand out. Even their meals were repetitive, due to the low plant diversity in the area.

Squirtle yearned for a battle. Sure, it might be scary, and sure, they would almost certainly end up unconscious or close to it, but anything was better than the endless hike. And just picturing the Espeon's contemptuous face was enough to set Squirtle's blood to a boil. He would become no stronger by walking peaceably through the Prairie while worthy foes lived seconds away.

“I know you don't want to prolong your journey,” began Squirtle, “but do you want to break up this segment with a battle or two?”

“Yeah, alright. We're taking the long route anyways, so some small delays aren't terrible.”

Squirtle reckoned he was not the only one affected by boredom and restlessness.

* * *

Quil sprawled onto the path, Squirtle not far behind him. The sun was near the horizon, hidden by the grasses, and the sky was darkening. Together they rested and caught their breath. The air grew slightly chilly, but as usual it was no bother to Squirtle.

“Is it okay if we just sleep right there for the night?” Quil pointed a forelimb off to the side of the path. Squirtle nodded tiredly.

Their first battle had been against an Arbok, which Squirtle had found especially intimidating because of its imposing height and daunting hood pattern. They had been once again outmatched. The Arbok had swiftly wrapped itself around Quil and squeezed until the fight went out of him, even while it struck a pair of nasty bites at Squirtle. The pair had had no opportunity to use Squirtle's strategy. Instead, Squirtle had shouted encouragement to Quil as he was squeezed, though it had not helped. They had wearily fled the fight after the Arbok had wore them down without suffering a single technique from the pair.

Squirtle had felt the fangs pierce his skin, but the punctures must have healed rapidly, as little evidence of the attacks remained after the battle. Maybe that rapid healing was the source of the now-familiar spreading weakness and weariness that followed each time he took a hit in battle. He theorized that no permanent damage was ever inflicted, because a Pokémon's body instantly mended the damage at the cost of its strength becoming sapped.

Following a short rest and another length of walking, they had encountered a Linoone darting across the path. Naturally, it had stopped, turned, and began an offensive. Squirtle had done his best to think up battle advantages that he or Quil could use, and had verbalized one of them in as short of a sentence as he could. The relentless Linoone's headbutts had been too powerful, however, and Squirtle had been nearly knocked out before anything positive could come of his idea. Quil too had had his fill of headbutts all too soon, and the Linoone had earned its victory. The pair had stumbled away, back to the path.

Squirtle had consoled himself by saying the effort was what caused improvement, not the victory. Switching mindsets in order to execute his techniques properly but also allow time for unclouded thought was becoming easier for him, too. 

The full day of hiking along with a couple of battles promised Squirtle an easy descent into slumber. After saying “Good night” to Quil, who seemed approximately as tired, Squirtle gladly fell asleep.

The next morning, Quil must have woken up first, because Squirtle awoke to a knocking on his shell. The sound was at once a booming echo, like a water drop falling from a cavern stalactite into a pool, and a sourceless thump that Squirtle felt through his entire body. Squirtle found it difficult to compare the sensation to something else, probably because there was nothing comparable to being tucked inside a shell that was also a part of his body.

In any case, the sound, or perhaps the feeling, woke Squirtle right up. He languidly emerged from his shell and stretched with a small yawn.

Quil greeted him. “Good morning! You didn't sleep in your shell that night at Bein's. Were you extra tired last night or something?”

“Er, maybe. Sometimes it's a shell night, sometimes it's not.” Squirtle racked his brains for an appropriate topic change, but failed on account of the morning's slight grogginess. “It's a Squirtle thing,” he said lamely.

Quil chuckled. “If you say so! Want to press onward?”

Mid-morning, the pair came to a major merge in the road. Their path led into another, which looked slightly more used than theirs, with a greater width and shorter grass bed poking out of the dirt. The earth of the new path even featured slight cracking in places, as if the footsteps of a thousand Pokémon had chipped into the earth's once pristine skin. The words unsaid, Quil and Squirtle halted at the juncture.

So far they'd traveled almost directly east through Blind Prairie. According to Quil's directions, a shortcut through the grass northeast would have taken them to Cavetown more quickly. This new path seemed to run approximately northwest to southeast. Squirtle concluded that turning left at the junction would bring them to Cavetown, and right would take them to to Blindhollow.

“Since the shortcut didn't help us,” said Quil, “we could go to Blindhollow if we wanted. I bet it's only a short distance that way.” He pointed his snout right, in the southeast direction.

“Or we could go that way and get to Cavetown more quickly.” He looked to the northwest, the way that would take them to where the shortcut through the tall grasses would have dumped them.

“It's your decision, as always,” said Squirtle, though some part of him nagged at his attention, urging him to suggest hitting an additional population center instead of proceeding directly to Cavetown.

Quil was silent for a moment, likely considering the choice one final time. In the stillness, new noises became apparent other than the light breeze and wild Pokémon calls and cries. A voice. No, multiple voices. A conversation. And then a variety of motion and footfall sounds as the Pokémon approached.

From the path leading to Blindhollow, an assortment of Pokémon was heading their way. The one in the lead was a Pokémon that Squirtle had never seen before. Their eyes met. Squirtle felt Quil tense beside him.


	12. Altruism

On the path coming from Blindhollow, a motley crew of Pokémon approached Squirtle and Quil where they stood at the fork in the road. The two Pokémon in the lead were in the midst of a discussion. One, Squirtle recognized as a Seviper. It did not slither, but inched forward while bunched up sinusoidally like an accordion. The Seviper seemed to be debating with the other, taller Pokémon in the lead, which Squirtle did not recognize. It looked like a Rapidash, but with a steely gray hide, jagged white stripes, and a stiff mane of white. Its tail terminated in a starburst of bright hair.

In fact, there was a Rapidash in the group, too. It walked on the gray and white Pokémon's other side, and a bit behind. Trailing it closely were a couple of very small Ponyta. Also present were a Bellossom gliding along with the Ponyta, and a Taillow who was perched atop the Rapidash's head behind its horn and between its ears. How it was not burned by the flaming mane was a mystery to Squirtle.

Squirtle glanced at Quil, but though the Cyndaquil seemed more rigid than he had been a moment ago, he made no move to hide himself. Nor did he indicate that Squirtle should do the same, so Squirtle remained in plain sight and waited for the party to approach.

“...and you can do that shock wave technique where everyone around you gets zipper zapped!” the Seviper was telling the gray and white Pokémon beside it. Its feminine but tomboyish tone was quite exuberant. “I'm telling you Hayzin, we could have wrapped up the whole issue and quashed it ourselves, if you helped us!”

The other Pokémon kept its gaze ahead, having already noticed and studied Squirtle and Quil. Its voice was that of a tolerant father replying slowly and patiently to some nonsense. “Delicate situations do not mandate hasty responses, Viper. What if I'd lost? She might have confined me to the Prison, yes? But hush now, it appears there are some fellow travelers on this road.”

Quil, as usual, was not forthcoming in opening the conversation with strangers, so Squirtle said a simple, “Hello.”

The party slowed to a stop. “Hiya!” greeted the Seviper. “Which way you going? Don't tell me you're going the direction we're coming from!”

Don't be too trusting, thought Squirtle. We don't know these Pokémon. What's their agenda? Why is such a diverse group traveling together?

“Actually, we hadn't yet decided which route to take. Why, what's wrong with that way?” He gestured toward the direction behind the group.

“What, you don't know where you're going? Ha! Let me give you some directions then!”

The Rapidash sighed and its eyes drifted away, as if it were embarrassed by the Seviper's talkativeness or something it had said. The Seviper opened its fanged mouth to say more, but the gray and white Pokémon cut it off.

“Forgive her, please. I'm sure you know where you're going. However, I can speak for all in my party when I advise you to not continue whence we came. Blindhollow is not the town it once was.”

The two small Ponyta bobbed their heads approvingly, and the others made sounds of agreement. The Taillow, from the Rapidash's head, followed up with a high-pitched, sing-song, “I wouldn't go that way, not me!”

“Yeah,” said the Seviper, “Raizula's gone all spingle-spangled in the head! Basically, it's her town now. She went on and on about tribute, and her glorious reign. Completely spangled!”

Squirtle and Quil shared a look. Squirtle asked, “Is this...Rye-zoo-la an Electric-type?”

Some of the Pokémon in the group exchanged looks of their own, and at the fore, the deep chest of the gray and white Pokémon rumbled – a knowing hum.

“So it wasn't just Blindhollow,” the tall Pokémon said. “I was correct. Yes, Squirtle, Raizula is a Raichu. Her power is now immense, and she is not afraid of utilizing it for her wicked ends. That is why we caution against going there. Blindhollow is no longer that idyllic destination that so many have visited.”

“Let me guess,” put in the Seviper. “You're here to visit Wartortle's Seed Nursery? Well it's off-limits unless you give Raizula something she thinks pretty, something she likes. Which you'll have to do anyway if you want to leave. So don't even step into Blindhollow, that's spangle-talk!” Her head moved about as she talked, and her tongue darted out and in between some sentences.

Squirtle noticed Quil backing up very slowly. He still seemed tense. Squirtle could not determine why, as these Pokémon sounded genuine and helpful.

“I see. Thank you for the warning. May I ask where you are going instead?”

“Cavetown,” said a few of the Pokémon at once, and the Taillow twittered in laughter. The gray and white Pokémon continued, “A place that is sure to be more peaceful, as Cavetown is known for its attraction to Grounders among others. We doubt that Zappers would be able to instigate any trouble in such an environment. Do you have any news of Cavetown?”

Squirtle wished he knew why his companion was backing up. He was put in an awkward position, as he could not continue a civilized discussion while Quil was so obviously uneasy, and he could not suddenly scuttle away with Quil for a private conference without being rude to the helpful Pokémon.

“We don't know about Cavetown,” said Squirtle, “but we came from Karprest. It sounds like Blindhollow is experiencing similar issues. A Luxio by the name of Stolt deposed the mayor, and ordered some of his lackeys to kick us out because we weren't from around there.”

“Say what?” cried the Seviper. Some of the others seemed to share the sentiment.

“Incredible. I actually know Stolt, personally,” said the gray and white Pokémon. “Being a Zebstrika, and a fellow Electric, I once challenged him to a battle to compare our strengths. This was long ago, in my younger days. Back then I was traveling the world, seeing and learning as much as I could. But I digress.” He snorted. “I never liked Stolt. I imagine you've seen the traits in him that I despised, yes? It is sad to hear what he has done.”

Squirtle understood then why Quil was so on edge. The Pokémon addressing them did not only have a history as a fighter, but he was an Electric-type. Squirtle mentally kicked himself, as there was more than one indicator in the Zebstrika's appearance of Electric typing.

In turn, Squirtle could not help feeling a shiver run down his spine. In this Zebstrika was the same unnatural, phenomenal power that lived in Stolt. Flashes of memory from that dreadful morning assailed Squirtle, but he held fast and faced the Zebstrika.

By the same token, a question formed in Squirtle's mind. “If you're an Electric, and you've got other like-minded Pokémon on your side, why would you not unite against this Raizula? If I may ask?”

“Right?!” the Seviper practically shouted. “Hayzin, I keep telling you, and this Squirtle agrees with me!”

“Enough,” the Rapidash said calmly. She stepped forward. “Hayzin's made his choice, and it is his choice to make, Viper. You are always welcome to return to Blindhollow if you disagree with him.”

The chastised Seviper hissed as she looked away.

Hayzin, the Zebstrika, addressed Squirtle once more. “The situation in Blindhollow is not simple, and cannot be addressed by a simple battle, in my humble opinion. I believe that if we relocate for the time being, it would be better for my family and the ones who travel with us,” He gestured with his muzzle at the Seviper, Taillow, and Bellossom.

He spoke with additional stress behind his words. Clearly, others in his party were not yet convinced. Squirtle was not either, but he'd have to see Blindhollow with his own eyes to be an accurate judge.

“My name is Hayzin,” the Zebstrika pronounced, and flexed his great neck to lower his head.

Against his better judgment, Squirtle felt a pang of worry. Electric techniques could be delivered by contact, as in the case of Stolt shocking Keema the Meowth at Karprest. However, in his experience there had always been a visual indicator of an Electric technique being prepared, whether it be a glow or small arcs of electricity jumping about on the user's body. In this Zebstrika, there were no such warning signs, not even a stiffening of the mane hairs.

“Squirtle,” he said, and rammed his head forward. Hayzin's four hooves held the Zebstrika stationary, and he pushed back with appropriate force. The large amount of practice he must have had showed. Nevertheless, Squirtle rebounded and maintained his balance. He hid a smile at the secret thrill he felt.

My first, real success at the introduction ritual! I bet at this point, I don't even come off as abnormal in any way to strangers. I'm just another Pokémon; it's great!

Quil exhibited reluctance at introducing himself, but both Hayzin and his Blindhollow companions maintained politeness by not mentioning it. Once that was done, the other Pokémon introduced themselves. The Rapidash introduced herself as Hayzin's mate, Flinyta. The two small Ponyta were named Dashar and Rappard. Squirtle found it curious that despite their young age, they performed the ritual instead of simply being introduced by their parents.

Squirtle did not know what to expect from the Taillow, who said her name was Willow. She puffed her feathers as she swung her wings forward to buffet Squirtle's headbutt. Squirtle rebounded and immediately looked around suspiciously. But no one else had intervened. He'd thought there was no way Willow could have delivered such a powerful blow, but that's what had happened.

“Haven't you heard the expression Squirtle? Size doesn't win fights!” the Taillow laughed.

“Sorry,” muttered Squirtle. “Not used to introducing myself; I'm not from around here.”

The Bellossom, named Doddi, performed a simple tackle. The predictable attack was a welcome relief.

Lastly, the Seviper introduced herself. “Viper, short for Se-viper. Got it?” Her long body twisted, allowing the flat of her bladed tail to swat at Squirtle's head. He repelled it appropriately. Quil repeated the process.

The introductions were finished, but nothing remained to talk about. Quil still looked itching to get away, so Squirtle said something about not wanting to prevent the group from moving on.

“Fight well,” said Hayzin, as the group departed toward Cavetown. Were those typical words of parting among Pokémon, or cryptic encouragement? Hayzin struck Squirtle as an astute Pokémon, but he wasn't sure what else to make of the Zebstrika.

Viper the Seviper loudly started up a conversation, and Squirtle thought he heard a collective sigh, before the group turned right at a slight bend and was gone from view. Quil came back to Squirtle's side and spoke.

“Sorry I was quiet. Our time in Karprest has made a lasting impression on me of Electrics, so I wasn't comfortable being anywhere near that Zebstrika until I had to be.”

“I understand,” said Squirtle. “I didn't know he was an Electric-type until he mentioned it, or I would have been more cautious myself.”

“He seemed agreeable; it's not that I didn't trust him, it's just his Type and those memories.”

“You don't have to explain yourself Quil, I know exactly what you mean. I must say, it was nice to meet an Electric-type who wasn't insane.”

Quil chuckled. “Definitely. Going by what he said though, Blindhollow's got another crazy Zapper. Whatever caused the Electric boost must have rattled the brains of some of the boost recipients. Even that Elekid was particularly nasty.”

A light gust rippled through the grasses. Squirtle eyed the horizon skies as he considered Quil's idea. Some darker clouds were making an appearance. Maybe there would be rain that night or in the morning.

“That's a good point, certainly. We've met many unsavory Electrics. But the ones we saw serving under Stolt looked subservient, not like they were guided by some wicked morality in doing his bidding. And, we heard that Electabuzz as we were leaving Karprest who sounded like he was trying to stir up a rebellion. He couldn't have gone crazy from the boost. Though, his rebellion idea could be perceived as irrationally belligerent, I suppose.”

Quil was quiet, and seemed to listen keenly to his words. Squirtle appreciated it, and finished cautiously with, “But of course I may be wrong. Maybe there was some sort of corrupting influence during the storm, and Pokémon like Hayzin resisted it for some reason. Anything's possible at this point.”

“We should have asked him if he felt strange during the storm,” suggested Quil, and Squirtle nodded. “Still hard to believe your theory is truth now, Squirtle. It's so unnatural, so backward.”

Squirtle had the sense that the Type classifications of Pokémon were supposed to all be balanced, such that no Type was considered best. The moves of a certain Type may be considered the most physically powerful, for example, but that was balanced by certain weaknesses. And Pokémon of a certain Type might tend to be faster than average, but they would tend to be set back by advantages that other Types possessed. Squirtle lacked specific memories of a balanced world, but he still understood that the current situation was very abnormal. It left a sour taste in his mouth. No doubt Quil, and all Pokémon besides Squirtle, now saw the world as twisted.

Quil said, “Anyway, we still have to decide which way to go. Though after that conversation,” he turned to the path leading to Cavetown, “I guess it's clear which way we should go.”

“Yes,” replied Squirtle. “Blindhollow sounds like it's not a sightseeing destination anymore. Dangerous, too.”

“Definitely.”

Together, they stood where the path from the Karp river met the larger path from Blindhollow to Cavetown. Neither made any move toward Cavetown. Another small gust tousled the grasses of Blind Prairie. The wind felt nice, made Squirtle feel alive after the tedium of days of walking. The gust died down, and still Squirtle and Quil were motionless.

“We're going to Blindhollow, aren't we?” asked Squirtle.

“Yep. I think we are,” said Quil.

“Personally, I'm curious,” said Squirtle. “I fear we'd miss a piece of the puzzle if we skipped Blindhollow after witnessing the events of Karprest unfold, first-hand. Also, the Seed Nursery sounds intriguing; I'm not used to seeing fantastical things, like seeds that do more than just grow into plants. Especially if it's run by a Wartortle.”

And that's not mentioning the chance of finding a Psychic to help me, Squirtle added in his head.

“Why do you want to go to Blindhollow?” he asked.

“I...I'm not sure,” said Quil. “Just a feeling. And as they say: Your head thinks, your gut knows.”

Squirtle gave him a playful smirk. “Oh? So you have an adventurous streak in you!”

“Me? No, no! No way. I want to finish this journey as soon as possible. I want it over with.”

“Yet we're going to Blindhollow, correct?”

Quil sighed softly. “Yeah.”

* * *

“How are we going to do this?” asked Quil.

The sun was only two or three hours from setting by the time Squirtle and Quil arrived at Blindhollow, with a spring in their steps. From the grasses' edge, Quil and Squirtle poked their heads out to survey the town without being spotted by anyone within it.

Blindhollow, predictably enough, was located in a hollow in the midst of Blind Prairie's lush grasses. The ground cratered perhaps thirty feet at its deepest, in the center. The entire depression was clear of grass, but at the same time surrounded by grass as well, like a curtain for privacy. Boasting a diameter of about two hundred and fifty feet, Squirtle estimated it would take him two to three minutes to walk from edge to edge of the crater. That placed the town at a bit smaller than Karprest.

Three paths were the only breaks in the crater's grass curtain. The first was the one that Quil and Squirtle had entered by, before hurriedly scurrying into the grass cover for reconnaissance. The other two were on the southern edge and the northeastern edge of the crater, and led to parts unknown.

Blindhollow's structures took up most of the crater's area. The architecture was similar to Karprest, which was sensible to Squirtle since most of the same building materials would be on hand in the similar environments. These buildings were more neatly arranged, seeming to be built in roughly concentric circles around the hollow's center. With no flooding river next door, the buildings lacked raised supports to keep them off the ground. They also utilized mudbricks in place of Karprest's wooden boards and paneling for the most part. The mud played another role, as a few buildings were little more than short mounds of shaped mud that hinted at rooms beneath ground level.

Squirtle scanned what he could see of Blindhollow from his position. Though the curve of the crater granted a nice angle of view on the town, much was still hidden behind other buildings, or too far to make out in detail. Armed with the knowledge that Blindhollow was famous for Wartortle's Seed Nursery, he looked for that first. Finding it was easy; a large swath of greenery covered a portion of the the crater slope on the opposite side from Squirtle and Quil. Little else looked to be growing in the town, so Squirtle surmised that the green had to be the Nursery. It was on the edge of town.

Squirtle recalled Hayzin mentioning something about a Prison, but did not know what that would look like. The only other feature of note was a pond at the exact center of the crater. He could glimpse parts of its far bank over some roofs and gaps in the buildings on the crater's near side.

Of course any water source would have to be in the middle of the crater. Anywhere else, and it would drain to the center, thought Squirtle.

The rest of the buildings looked to be living spaces, gathering places, and structures for purposes that Squirtle could only guess at. He wasn't sure what else one might find in a Pokémon town, or even how town-dwelling Pokémon spent their free time.

The journey through Blind Prairie had been quiet for the majority of the time. The quiet persisted in Blindhollow. Sounds of activity reached Squirtle and Quil – small splashes in the water, the clearing of a throat, a door clicking shut – but none were loud. None were carefree or jovial. The atmosphere in the town struck Squirtle as cautious, as subdued. Sheltered in the huge depression, the very air was still. 

“Wartortle's Seed Nursery,” Squirtle said to Quil. “It's got to be that greenery, over there. Do you see it? That's what I want to explore first. Maybe we could talk to the Wartortle too, and learn from a denizen of Blindhollow what the state of affairs here is. I don't think we want to stroll into town, announcing our presence and arousing the notice of Raizula. We don't know who is serving or advocating her, so we want to limit contact with the Pokémon here.” He paused to allow Quil to speak his thoughts.

Quil did not comment immediately. Squirtle turned his head to glance at his companion. He could not see the look in Quil's eyes, for they were mere wrinkles in his fur, but Squirtle imagined they'd have a twinkle in them. Quil's snout was tucked, his brow raised. Squirtle knew that Quil was giving him 'the look' again. He turned away, pretending to not notice so as to limit his embarrassment.

“Sorry,” said Quil quietly. “You're just not like any...sorry. Your points so far sound reasonable to me. Please, go on.”

Obviously, Quil knows I'm different than other Pokémon, and not just because I lost my memory. We've been sticking together far too long for him to not pick up on it. The question I see is: why hasn't he asked me about it further? Quil is an honest Pokémon who has opened up about topics he's not proud of when I asked him about them. Yet he hasn't really urged me to do the same.

Squirtle's frown deepened.

Is he too shy? Too kind to ask me questions I don't want to answer? Too respectful? I'm sure he doesn't want me to have another breakdown like the one outside of Swanna's lodge, so he's not pressing me. Or does he just not know what questions to ask? Maybe to him, there's no possible explanation for my behavior other than the theory I've chosen not to correct: that I've always been a Pokémon, but one from far away. Maybe Quil can't suspect any alternative, because my kind is not known to him. Or not known to any Pokémon, period. That would explain why he hasn't identified any of my mannerisms and other tell-tale signs as non-Pokémon.

So if Quil has no opinions of the form I once wore, then shouldn't I come clean? Spilling all the information I have would be a weight off my shell at the worst, and a valuable decision at best, if Quil knows about my kind. Where to find them, for example.

Gah, these logical leaps and connections are tenuous. Maybe Quil hates my kind, but still believe me to be a Pokémon from a distant land and culture. Maybe I'll lose my only friend the next time Quil studies my strange behavior. If a Psychic--

“Squirtle?” prompted Quil, with a guilty, concerned tone.

His thoughts were in rapid-fire, but now was not the time to think those thoughts. They did not have all day to spend at Blindhollow, and a plan still had to be finalized then executed. The future held time enough for pondering Quil's opinion of him. What he'd been thinking about would not affect the evening's activities, so Squirtle shook his head to clear it.

“Sorry. The plan. Yes, the plan. If we make it to the Seed Nursery, but decide to get a closer look into the town, we can slowly and cautiously sneak downward to the center. Otherwise, we can slip back up to the crater's edge and vanish, the same way we came in. Is there anything you want to get done while we're here?”

“Nope, nothing you haven't already mentioned. See exactly what the Nursery is, and get a feel for Blindhollow as it is right now. Just being here and doing something instead of walking away is gratifying in a small way.” His mouth formed a little 'O' and he seemed to look at Squirtle sharply.

“What?” asked Squirtle.

“I'm surprised at what I said. Huh. I'm not sure it's true.”

“No, I see where you're coming from. The world is going a little crazy, so turning a blind eye to the Pokémon affected would almost make you answerable for their plight. Right?”

With a laugh, Quil said, “I couldn't have said it any better myself. Without the strange expressions, though, if you don't mind me saying so.”

Briefly, Squirtle's thoughts turned inward as well. Was he really here just to satisfy his curiosity, and to have a chance of broadening his understanding of the Electric-type boost? Again, a question for a later time.

Squirtle once more considered how feasible it would be to see more of Blindhollow than the Nursery. Sneaking around would be difficult. No wind would sweep away sounds. No foliage would grant them cover. The only significant advantage of the conditions was the sky. A cover of gray had obscured the sun, dimming the light before sunset even approached.

“By the way,” said Quil, following his gaze. “Those look like rainclouds, and I bet they'll burst before morning.”

Squirtle nodded, trusting Quil's assessment of a natural phenomenon. “Alright.”

“You should know that I...won't be very useful in the open rain. I'll need to find shelter. That shouldn't affect the plan, right? We have time.” Quil turned his head away, and scratched an itch on his neck with the tip of one foot. Or pretended to, at any rate, since Squirtle judged that Quil was faking an itch just so he wouldn't have to meet Squirtle's eyes. He was probably embarrassed about his issue.

“Er, okay Quil. I agree, that shouldn't be a problem. We'll steal back to the grasses before it pours.”

Quil looked appeased by this, but not completely. Squirtle couldn't blame him. As with the Karp river, water was an element that Quil needed to avoid. He'd already seen what would happen to Quil if he was forced too close to water. He resolved to prevent such a situation from occurring again. Quil didn't deserve to be reduced to a terrified little ball of fur and flame.

“Is there anything else we haven't yet considered? Are we ready to go?” asked Squirtle.

“Oh, I should probably extinguish my fire, since we're aiming for stealth.” With that, the flames of Quil's back dwindled in an uneven progression, much like they had in Swanna's lodge, until they sputtered out. He signaled to Squirtle his readiness.

“Good call,” commented Squirtle.

The pair backed away from the crater's edge, then crept around the perimeter of the crater until they were on the side closest to the suspected Seed Nursery. Initially, Squirtle counted himself lucky that they encountered no wild-dwelling Pokémon, but then concluded that it was unlikely. If he were to choose one spot to live, he'd either choose a settlement, or a part of the wild that was a decent distance from one. Why live right on the edge of a settlement, as if trying to inhabit both worlds?

Looking out again from the grasses that ringed the Blindhollow crater, Squirtle could see no Pokémon looking their way, or indeed any at all in open view. He was reminded of the atmosphere in Karprest following Stolt's attack on Quil and himself. Though if everyone was minding their own business, the atmosphere was a good one for sneaking.

The pair stepped out of their cover, and made for the greenery on the slope. Squirtle moved as fast as he could while making little sound on the dirt he trod, and Quil matched his pace. As far as he could tell in the swift advance, no faces peeked out of windows, no figures stopped in the dirt roads between buildings to watch them.

They reached the mudbrick fence that enclosed the plants in what felt like half a minute, but Squirtle concluded in hindsight must have been only a few seconds. The fence must have been meant solely to demarcate the plot of land meant for the plants growing within, instead of any intruder deterrent purposes, because it was only five feet tall and looked easy to clamber over. The area enclosed was one or two thousand square feet, and rectangular: two long sides, two short sides. The two short sides were parallel to the nearby edge of the crater. Squirtle and Quil were next to one of said sides. At the other shorter side stood a brick building connected to the enclosed area. Other buildings stood adjacent to the rectangular mudbrick fence and associated structure, all seeming to be part of one of the concentric circles in Blindhollow's building arrangement. Thus, Squirtle and Quil were located in a broad alley.

“That building could be where they keep gardening tools and supplies for the Seed Nursery,” murmured Quil.

“We could walk right in its front door, and hope Raizula or anyone working with her don't see us or hear about it, or we could hop this fence right now.” Squirtle was going to offer an opinion, but Quil spoke up first.

“I'm not trespassing on that property. Pokémon probably pay money to see it, regardless of how Raizula has changed things. Let's take our chances with the first option, okay Squirtle?”

Quil had a solid point. The grand total worth of all of their current possessions and money was a whopping zero. If they could not pay a fee or fine, how else would they be expected to pay?

Inching toward the building ahead while hugging the brick fence's long side, the lateral wall of the building came up next to them. A couple of open windows were its only feature. The front doors had to be on the other side, the broader side facing the road that ran in what looked like a circle around the crater's center. Unfortunately, venturing to the main side of the structure would expose them considerably to the road, and potential identification as travelers. Squirtle hesitated, not wanting to round the corner.

Squirtle stepped away from the wall, allowing Quil to move up from behind him. At that moment, a Turtwig and its evolution – Squirtle could not recall its species name – crossed the mouth of the alley where it met the road. They likely would not have noticed the pair, as they were quite close to the wall, but Quil was evidently surprised by their appearance. The furless spots on his back hissed as they reignited. They did not cast a sizable flame as usual, but quickly died back down. Quil must have immediately reigned in his surprise and regained control of his back's flames.

The damage had been done. Though still daytime, the sound and light of Quil's fires drew the Turtwig's attention. That in turn drew the other Pokémon's attention. With suspicious expressions, they glanced into the alleyway.

When Quil had stiffened and his spots had taken on a ruddy glow, Squirtle planted himself against the building's wall, as far out of sight as he could. It was not enough. He could still see the road, so those two Pokémon would still be able to see him, and definitely Quil. There was only one way to go.

In retrospect, Squirtle realized it would have aroused far less suspicion to be walking in an alley than to jump through a window. Maybe the two Pokémon would have just thought them strange travelers, dismissing the matter from their minds. Panic had pushed Squirtle to do something impulsive and regrettable.

“Up!” he hissed to Quil, as he swung his gaze upward to locate the open window in the wall. He jumped and hoisted himself through without a backward glance. Quil was a second behind him. Together they half-fell, half-landed in the room. 

What a room it was. Large wooden doors to the road were the only real entrance, with another set of doors leading to the plot of land they'd skirted. The room was huge, and looked to take up the entire building, like a grand lobby. The ground, like most of the construction Squirtle had seen, was made of rock-hard dried mudbricks.

Framed display cases adorned the walls, each one of them showing a plant component. Some were flowers, others root structures cleaned of dirt residue, but most of them were seeds. Seeds as big as Squirtle's fist, seeds no larger than a finger's claw, yellow seeds, red seeds, green seeds, shriveled and wrinkled seeds, bulbous and smooth seeds. If the displays were not meant to showcase the huge diversity of seed properties, they nonetheless managed to succeed at it. Each had a strip of parchment at the bottom with big blocky letters. They might have been labels, but Squirtle did not examine any of them closely enough to attempt reading it. His attention was reserved for the fascinating contents of the displays.

Like Quil had predicted, tools for gardening were in abundance on the other end of the room. Rakes, trimmers of various sizes, a plow, buckets, ropes of a few thicknesses, and many more for which Squirtle could not determine the purpose, let alone the name. Doubtless, he was not a gardener or botanist before he was a Squirtle.

While Squirtle was momentarily mesmerized by the room, Quil grabbed one of Squirtle's hands with his two forelimbs and tugged him onward.

“Let's get out of sight, away from the windows,” Quil said quickly. Indeed, six windows in total lined the room's walls, granting them a fair view of Blindhollow, and granting Blindhollow a fair view of them. Squirtle allowed himself to be tugged forward, and they sought refuge from sight on the opposite side of the room. Windows flanked the corner, and a supply closet filled with tools blocked view of the window from which they'd entered.

No doors were busted down, nor did any inquiring shouts come from the windows while they waited, hidden. The tense moment passed. Squirtle took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself. This was definitely the right place. If this was not the building connected to the Seed Nursery, nothing was.

“Sorry,” Quil whispered. “The Turtwig and Grotle surprised me, and my fire was igniting before I knew it. Just instincts. I really should--”

The double doors leading to the plot of greenery swung inward. A Wartortle walked slowly inside, and set a basket down as it peered around the expansive room. Something about its appearance screamed 'male' at Squirtle. He was a rather large individual, larger than Squirtle would have expected from a Wartortle, but maybe Squirtle hadn't yet fully adjusted to his new perspective. The brown of his shell was a bit faded, with visible wear and tear in the form of scratches and worn down edges. Also, the wing-like fur around his ears and the fur of his tail were a sky blue instead of the typical lighter aquamarine color.

“Hello?” the Wartortle called. Squirtle started.

He sounds so much like me! thought Squirtle. Deeper pitch though.

The Wartortle quickly eyed the room. He seemed to know it well, as his gaze landed upon Quil and Squirtle in no time where they hid by the tool-filled closet.

Quil twitched. Squirtle froze. He wasn't sure what to say.

“Eh? What are you doing over there?” asked the Wartortle. Squirtle opened his mouth but said nothing. 

Quil said, “Um. Exploring. Looking around.”

The Wartortle laughed, the easy and quieter laugh of one who has heard many, many jokes. “You won't find anything interesting over there, Cyndaquil, Squirtle. My Nursery is what you've come to see, yes? Let me give you the tour.”

Squirtle and Quil glanced at each other. Was this good fortune, or the end of their success at stealth? The Wartortle sounded honest, and Quil was already walking out of the corner to join the Wartortle. Squirtle nodded slowly, but prepared himself to flee if the Wartortle seemed untrustworthy or moved to sell them out.

“First time visitors?” asked the Wartortle kindly.

“Yes,” said Quil and Squirtle together.

The Wartortle smiled like a storyteller about to begin his story, as if he knew they were in for a treat. He pulled open the double doors to reveal the Seed Nursery.


	13. Haven

Compared to the browns and grays of Blindhollow thus far, the fenced-in spread of green was stunning. Despite the late hour and cloudy weather, the color still managed to stand out wonderfully. The plants were arranged in neat rows and sectors, with every plant in a sector looking to be the same species and at the same phase of growth. Most were leafy bushes but one plot had rows of growing saplings, their wood the pale brown of vulnerable youth.

Most of the Nursery's plants looked to be bearing their bounty. While some sectors had colorful flowers, and some were bare of anything but leaves, Squirtle could tell that seeds were in plenty. They grew from the ends of branches, along branches, alone or in bunches, high on the bushes, or sprouting from stalks near the earth. Squirtle knew he was no expert in the matter, but seeds growing in place of fruit seemed scientifically wrong. Either plant terminology was all mixed up in these lands of Pokémon, or these were very special plants.

Their footfalls rumpled fresh, neatly-trimmed grass, a welcome change from dirt and dust. The Wartortle stopped them at the first sector of nearly-identical plants and faced them.

“Welcome to Wartortle's Seed Nursery. I am, in fact, that Wartortle. I used a different name long ago, but my life has been intertwined with this place over the years, so I go by Wartortle now. I know you two are travelers, since you do not live here in Blindhollow. What are your names, if I may?”

“Quil!” spouted Quil, and exchanged his greeting with the far taller Wartortle.

At least one of us is feeling bubbly and carefree, thought Squirtle.

“I'm just Squirtle, like you,” he said, and launched upward and forward to deliver a strike with his head.

Simultaneously, Wartortle moved forward too. However, his head retracted into his shell as he attacked, all but vanishing into darkness. What Squirtle struck was not Wartortle's forehead, but the hard white rims of his shell's head socket. The blow didn't hurt, but it was surprising.

Squirtle resisted the urge to glare at Wartortle for the sake of politeness. He expected him to reemerge with a devious or gleeful expression, but was met instead with surprised confusion.

“My apologies, Squirtle. If you don't mind me asking, what pond do you hail from? Or do you come from one of the lakes up north?”

What pond? “I, er, why do you ask?” he replied to buy time.

“I'm not sure I've ever encountered a member of our line that does not use our greeting. Are you from waters very distant from here?”

“Well, I'm from, uh,” sputtered Squirtle. He couldn't make up a name, because Squirtle had a hunch that Wartortle would be able to tell the given place was fictitious. And he couldn't produce a real name, because he didn't know the name of a single body of water except for the Karp river, which was no pond or lake.

“A pond very, very far away. I've been traveling, and I'm quite far from where I grew up. I doubt you might have heard of the place.”

The Wartortle yielded a small smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “Don't worry, Squirtle, I know every pond. And if I don't, I'll have learned something new – a victory for us either way.”

Squirtle glanced at Quil for help, but his friend was silent.

“The truth is, I can't remember, Wartortle. I'm sorry I was dishonest, but it's not information I like to spread around. I don't recall much about where I came from, and certainly nothing about being a Squirtle. I know that doesn't make much sense, but it's true.”

As with Tiller the Palpitoad, Wartortle looked distraught at the news. His visible pity made Squirtle cringe in embarrassment.

“Ah, so that's the reason. I didn't mean to pry into your personal business, but as a Wartortle to a Squirtle, I was frankly shocked to be met with the general greeting instead of the one I am always met with when meeting one of our evolutionary line. You can't remember ever seeing or performing it in the past?”

Squirtle shook his head.

“You can't recall your parents, your hatchplace?”

Squirtle shook his head, wishing they would move on to the tour.

The Wartortle's troubled expression lingered, and he seemed to be mulling something over. “Enough of that. Pardon me. Onto more joyous matters, like this wonderful Nursery!”

Quil gave a little whoop of excitement.

“This first plot is where I always begin, for its seeds are one of the most common you'll see. These are known as Plain Seeds. Though they have no effects, they are edible and nutritious. Unfortunately, I must report that their taste is entirely plain.”

With a chuckle, Quil remarked, “I've eaten these a million times.” The seeds that extended off the tips of some of the bushes' shoots were yellow, oblong, and rather ordinary in appearance. They grew in clusters.

The Wartortle moved them along, giving juicy tidbits of information for every species of plant they passed. The terminology used was often like a foreign language to Squirtle, but surprisingly, Quil appeared to be following along much better. Squirtle appraised Quil's plant knowledge and skill at locating edible plants in a new light. Were all Pokémon as resourceful as him, or did Quil have a green thumb, so to speak?

If Quil's interested in gardening and helping plants grow, it'll be the irony of the year. He is literally on fire.

Wartortle pointed to a mottled white growth hanging from a bush. A fruit? He plucked it and expertly dug his claws in to pry it open and reveal its core. “Inside of this ripened inflorescence is a cluster of seeds. As you might recognize, these are Eyedrop Seeds.” He indicated the lime green seeds within, small enough to fit four or five in Squirtle's hand.

“Visual acuity, and especially attention to small visual details, are temporarily improved upon consumption. It depends on the Pokémon, but effects last approximately one hour. Like most seeds, continued consumption will provide no permanent improvements. Rapid physical tolerance always occurs. Luckily, this tolerance fades as quickly as it forms, in most cases after a few days. Then, the seed will have nearly as powerful an effect as it did the first time.”

Squirtle was amazed at the power contained within those little pieces of plant material. What would it be like to notice the small details that were ordinarily skimmed over? To see the trees of a distant mountain range come into stronger definition as the effects of the seed took hold? Squirtle wanted to try a seed and find out. He wondered how valuable they were.

The tour continued smoothly. Wartortle was obviously an experienced guide. He took every question posed by Quil and returned a satisfactory answer every time. The Wartortle looked to be enjoying giving the tour, too. His enthusiasm for the subject improved the experience. It was evident in the manner he pointed things out, the tone of his voice during certain explanations.

“Oh, Wartortle, I heard once about a seed called a Reviver Seed,” said Quil following the Life Seed sector. “Is that a real seed? Or is it a myth?”

Wartortle smiled, his eyes closing in amusement. “A common question, naturally. The best answer I can give is this: probably. Three tourists that have come through here have related their experiences of seeing the seed's use. I myself have never seen anything like a Reviver Seed, but I questioned each of those tourists thoroughly and their stories of the seed are consistent. I would say Reviver Seeds exist, but where they grow and just how rare they are may well be a mystery forever.”

“Do Reviver Seeds do what they sound like they do?” asked Squirtle. He refused to believe that a seed, no matter where it came from, could restore life.

“Reviver Seeds, if they do exist, will restore a Pokémon to full strength and awareness after they have fainted from the stresses of battle, without even needing to be ingested. Some stories say they can do more. Who knows?” He added a mysterious eyebrow raise.

Truly, the variety and number of seeds were staggering. Like the legendary Reviver Seed, some of the displayed seeds did not need to be eaten. A single bite could trigger a reaction within a Blast Seed that unleashed outward a torrent of forceful heat. Some seeds like the Doom Seed could be thrown, as its thin outer membrane would break upon impact and release chemicals into the skin of whatever Pokémon it struck. The Violent Seed, which temporarily boosted most offensive capabilities of a Pokémon, was one that Squirtle particularly wanted to try. Would it feel like an adrenaline rush? A mood change, like a surge of aggression?

As the tour progressed, the infrequent gusts of cool wind became a steady turbulence. Even shielded by the short brick fence, the thousands of leaves in the Nursery were whipped about by the weather. Squirtle peered up at the sky. Though the weather was tame compared to the extraordinary storm of his first day as a Squirtle, miserable weather was miserable weather. It was a shame that he was experiencing the natural beauty of the Nursery in the dim gray light of the coming twilight. The only other damper of Squirtle's enjoyment of the tour was the suspicion that Wartortle was scrutinizing him every now and then. He wished Wartortle would get over his unknown origin and just treat him like every other Pokémon.

The tour finished with a showing of notably rare seeds. One 'seed' grew beneath the ground, presenting as nodules from the roots of a particularly difficult plant to grow. The Joy Seed, Wartortle explained, was said to have a more long-term effect, perhaps even permanent. No one was certain how it functioned, but the Pokémon who consumed it became healthier, more capable. Another rare seed was the Heal Seed, whose health restoration properties were unmatched. In seconds, they could cure most temporary ailments, physical or mental: Confusion, Paralysis, Burns, and more.

Quil appeared to have no reservations about believing in the alleged properties of every seed, but Squirtle held onto his skepticism. To him, it was silly for Legendary Pokémon to be considered unbelievable while these tiny bite-sized seeds held potential beyond the capabilities of most or all Pokémon species. He would believe that these seeds did what Wartortle said they did when he used them himself.

“That concludes the tour of my Seed Nursery, Squirtle and Quil,” said Wartortle, once again in front of the double doors. “Ordinarily, a fee is required to see the Nursery, but you've paid a price already, haven't you?” For the first time, his expression hardened and any trace of mirth left his voice.

Squirtle frowned, wondering at his meaning. Quil shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the fee.

“Besides,” continued Wartortle, “I must admit I was eager to give another tour. It's been a couple of days since the last one, thanks to that Raichu. Or maybe we have that wicked storm to blame for slowing down traffic through Blindhollow.”

The words of the Seviper they had bumped into came back to Squirtle as he racked his mind: You're here to visit Wartortle's Seed Nursery? Well it's off-limits unless you give Raizula something she thinks pretty, something she likes. That could be what Wartortle was referencing.

Wartortle didn't know they had sneaked in, had not had to pay any toll or meet with Raizula. Squirtle figured it would be best for it to stay that way, even though he felt guilty for the decision.

Wartortle had already proclaimed his disapproval of Raizula, so Squirtle knew he had some leeway to speak openly. To be safe, he spoke in a quiet, conspiratorial voice. “Are things that bad here Wartortle? Has Blindhollow become a lousy place to live?”

Wartortle's eyes slid along the perimeter of his fence as he made a full turn. Appearing satisfied, he said, “That Raichu and her, hmph, supporters, are making a real mess of the way of life here. She has multiple tolls running, as you may have guessed from what you saw closer to the middle of town. Word will spread fast – travelers won't see Blindhollow as a must-stop destination if they're going to get kicked around or stripped of any possessions they might have when they arrive. Pokémon are leaving, and I wish I could join them, if I'm being honest with myself. But I'm tied to the Nursery, and that Raichu wouldn't let me leave anyway. This place is the biggest force that will keep 'mon coming.”

Squirtle was surprised by the outpouring of honest emotion in Wartortle's voice.

“So what you two have heard is completely right. Blindhollow's going downhill fast, and I'm not talking about the fact that it's built in a crater, ha! The 'mon are scared. No one has seen this level of power before.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Quil. Squirtle nodded, agreeing with the sentiment.

Wartortle hummed, but shook his head after a moment. “I'm afraid not. Not unless you could humble that Raichu in a fight or two, and I'm not sure even that would restore Blindhollow to the way it should be. It's a strange situation here. You two shouldn't trouble yourselves with our problems though. Be happy you were able to see the Nursery, mm?”

Squirtle didn't bother voicing his doubts about their ability to take on Raizula in a fight. Quil was silent also. The amount of power that she possessed had to have been immense, for Wartortle made no reaction to their lack of response. Squirtle could only frown, and Quil's body language indicated distress as well.

If only they were stronger fighters! That Espeon would not have been able to mistreat him and leave him without any answers. Stolt would not have been able to so easily knock them out. Raizula would not be able to oppress and exploit Blindhollow's population. At least at first glance, it all came down to fighting capability. That gave Squirtle an idea. Every little bit helped.

“Wartortle, I have a favor to ask. I want to become a more experienced battler so that I can help remedy situations like this. Is there any technique you might be able to share with me, as a Pokémon who was once a Squirtle? Any tips, or advice that is typically passed down amongst Pokémon in our line?” He hoped he was not being too bold in overtly requesting training assistance from a Pokémon whom they had just met, and who was in a worse situation than them.

The Wartortle stood straight as the wind tousled the fur covering his long ears, before nodding solemnly. “You bear a substantial burden, Squirtle, not knowing your home, your family, your past. We of the Squirtle line are not solitary Pokémon, you know. We don't leave the pond until we're ready, if at all. For that reason, I'm obliged to help.”

Squirtle beamed. “I'd be thankful for any amount of coaching.”

Wartortle gestured for the pair to move off to a corner of the Nursery away from the plots, expressing a desire to not alter their watering schedule by what was to come. As the lesson began, Quil initially paid polite attention, but soon wandered off to re-examine some of the plants in the Nursery.

“Use Water Gun on me,” Wartortle commanded as he lowered himself to his hands.

Squirtle mirrored him, then did as commanded. Water erupted from his mouth toward Wartortle. Just before impact, Wartortle began his own stream of water. His was a thicker, swifter, and neater flow. Squirtle's was a gurgling stream, Wartortle's was a sleek river. Water droplets spattered the grasses as well as the two Pokémon. Squirtle spotted Quil dart farther into the Nursery to be safe from the stray droplets. In seconds, Squirtle's Water Gun had been subsumed by Wartortle's. Once the stream intersection was pushed to Squirtle's face, he slammed his mouth shut. Thankfully, Wartortle curtly cut his own stream off.

“Thank you,” said Wartortle. “Just wanted to check your elemental strength, you know. Now, have you tried withdrawing into your shell during a battle?”

Squirtle's mind leaped to all sorts of potential uses for that strategy even as he responded. “No, no I haven't!”

“Don't feel bad about it; many Squirtle, or even Wartortle, never think to try without seeing it or being told about it. Usually happens by accident eventually, in those cases. Withdrawing is a valuable tool though.”

His voice became agitated. “So many Pokémon are concerned only with their offensive capabilities, and doing as much damage as quickly as possible. But defensive techniques can be just as useful, once you get the feel for when to use them. As a Squirtle, you'd be wasting your potential if you weren't using something you always had with you.” He rapped his shell's front with one hand's claws. The almost wooden sound was almost exactly the sound that Squirtle's shell made.

Squirtle shook his head forlornly. This whole time he'd been fighting without ever thinking to use his shell. An amazing shield, biologically designed to resist outside forces, and he'd thought of it up until now as merely another component of his new anatomy.

“We call the technique Withdraw, but it's not as simple as that,” Wartortle continued. “If you're Tackled while you're asleep in your shell, it'll sap your strength more than if you'd used Withdraw properly while awake. Let's try it now. Go on, go in your shell.”

Hastily, Squirtle complied, tingling with excitement at the prospect of learning a new move. The world retreated, and he felt squeezed snugly but not uncomfortably in his little shell.

“This part is hard to explain; it comes mostly with practice and experience. Try to brace against the inside of your shell. Use every bit of you: head, arms, legs, tail. Push upward and outward, like you're trying to break out of your shell from within.”

Squirtle followed along, and now felt even more tightly compressed. Every bit of him that he could move was taut, causing his whole interior to be tense and stable. Without warning, he was suddenly soaring through the air. The outside world visible through his head socket rotated and blurred. The gray clouds of the sky were visible, the building connected to the Nursery, Wartortle's face studying him, greenery, then a sudden stop. He'd struck the ground. Allowing his head and limbs to pop back out, Squirtle released the tension and stood to face the approaching Wartortle.

“How'd that feel?” he asked, quite calmly for someone who had just knocked a fellow Pokémon to the opposite fence of the Nursery. Squirtle wasn't going to complain to his tutor. He was thankful for every moment.

Squirtle thought back, focusing on the details of the sensations before replying. “Not bad, I think. The impact was more surprising than painful or draining. I felt stretched and compressed at the same time, in my shell. Very tense.”

“Good, that's how Withdraw should feel! And it allowed you to turn a decent blow into a less serious one. Practice it as you travel, if you can. Brace against where the opposing technique is coming from. Time it with the impact. One day, you can try to land on your feet, ha! Oh, and Withdrawing is not nearly as helpful in protecting against elemental moves, but it'll help a great deal against attacks like Tackle.”

Squirtle absorbed it all, tried to file it away for future pondering. “Great, thank you! Do you have any pointers for my Water Gun? Your water was better in every way.”

“That, I can't help you with Squirtle. Control over your water comes with time, experience, familiarity. Think of how the water moves, feel its source. And if you evolve one day, that will sure help too.” He scratched his ear with a claw. “All I can say is don't be afraid to experiment. If one day your body tells you to shape your flow a bit differently, or incorporate air into the flow – whatever it is, don't be afraid. If you're lucky, you'll get to a level of elemental control where you'll be able to use Water-type techniques without your mouth. Secreting water out of your hands, say.”

Of this, Squirtle was skeptical. But the Wartortle sounded older and was certainly more experienced. No trace of dishonesty or deceit yet. What choice was there but to accept that such a strange phenomenon might one day be his to command?

“Fair enough. I'll better myself through practice, and I'll remember what you said. Thank you very much for the lesson, Wartortle.”

Wartortle did not smile. Squirtle guessed he was thinking about Squirtle's past, or lack thereof, and it was saddening him. In fact, a frown threatened to creep onto his fanged lips.

“I've never seen a Squirtle quite like you, and I grew up among over a hundred Squirtle. The shape of your jaw, the angle of your tail, the color of your scutes; they're all so...perfect. Perfectly average.”

An unusual feeling of trepidation enveloped Squirtle as he heard the Wartortle's words. What is that supposed to mean? What is he saying?

“In appearance at least, you resemble the typical and average Squirtle. Hm, if such a Pokémon existed.” His ears twitched and he tore his gaze away. “Please forgive my ramblings. I haven't come across a Squirtle in a long time.”

Squirtle didn't have any response to Wartortle's words. What could he say? Thank you? The words troubled him. Why would he stand out to a Pokémon that had seen so many other Squirtle? Was his appearance actually odd? Or was Wartortle overlaying Squirtle's unique lack of history onto his visual perception, mistaking his appearance as unique as well?

If Wartortle's onto something though, what does it mean that I'm a singularly average looking Squirtle? There's nothing wrong with average; sooner or later, a Squirtle's going to hatch that happens to look perfectly ordinary. However, I didn't hatch.

Wartortle was turning and striding slowly to his plants. His head rotated, appearing to consider different sectors, before he walked to the plot of bushes that bore Totter Seeds. Those seeds had the capability to inflict short-term confusion when striking a Pokémon. Wartortle delicately plucked one and returned to Squirtle as he waved for Quil to join them.

“I have decided to part freely with one of my seeds, considering the circumstances. Before you go, take this Totter Seed.” He raised a hand to stall Quil's squeaks of joy and Squirtle's excited thanks. He wore a grim smile as he said, “It may come in handy sooner than you think. Nonetheless, it is a remarkable seed, so enjoy it while it is in your possession.”

A particularly grotesque seed, its outer coat was purple, though one end was a sickly orange. Quil eagerly took it and held it with his forelimbs as he turned it over and over, inspecting it.

“Your Nursery is beautiful and incredible, Wartortle, more wonderful than I expected! I'll never forget it!”

“Thank you again for the battling instruction,” said Squirtle. He remained ill at ease regarding the Wartortle's previous comments.

Wartortle led them through the doors, and encouraged them to spend as much time as they'd like in the 'atrium' before moving on in their travels or exploration of Blindhollow. He then picked up the basket he had left behind, and closed the doors as he returned to his plants.

Together, they admired the seed Quil held for a minute. Squirtle knew he wouldn't forget the moment, as it was his first possession as a Pokémon, even if it was a shared one.

“Looks like we've accomplished our goals, Quil. We visited Wartortle's famous Seed Nursery, and learned for ourselves the state of this town. Now seems like an appropriate time to get back to your journey, right?”

“And 'Now is the best time', as they say. You're right. Same way we came in?”

“Actually, I thought we might try the window on the other side. Maybe it leads to a more hidden alley?”

The pair sidled up to one of the windows on the opposite side of the atrium from where they had come in, and peered out. The buildings on this side were luckily arranged in a more protective and clustered fashion. Squirtle and Quil would not be able to be spotted by the denizens of Blindhollow as easily, unless they were looking out one of the buildings' windows by chance. Overall, Squirtle thought it safer, and Quil agreed.

The alley was empty, and no Pokémon were in sight. The coast was clear. Plus, the darkness of the coming night was apparent. They climbed onto the sill and dropped quietly to the ground. Their covert progress ran into no hitches until they were halfway along the Nursery's fence.

Quil came up short beside Squirtle with a hiss. But the hiss wasn't from his mouth, it was from behind him. His back? Squirtle and Quil glanced upward at the same time. The clouds were at their darkest and grayest. A tiny raindrop struck Squirtle in an eye. He blinked it away, then looked worriedly at Quil.

Quil was turning about, looking presumably for cover. Another hiss came from the hot spots on his back as a raindrop struck and boiled.

“The grass?” asked Squirtle, pointing up and ahead to the lip of the crater.

“Won't offer much cover, I'd prefer if we got under something solid!” said Quil urgently. Before Squirtle could protest, Quil was awkwardly half-sneaking, half-trotting to the nearest structure while looking around corners for potential onlookers. The intent for stealth was still present, which Squirtle appreciated.

The winds were still picking up, and Squirtle was unsure if an extended hike in the rain would be pleasant, so taking cover and hiding might be a comfortable course of action to take. Dangerous, but comfortable. Quil should have mentioned that he was not quite okay with taking shelter in the grasses of Blind Prairie before they entered, but Squirtle was sure he did not mean anything by it. He followed after his companion.

Because of the concentric ring layout of Blindhollow, another building was very close by and at the same elevation in the crater. Calling it a building, however, would be misleading. Over a space on par with the square footage of Wartortle's Nursery, some portions of the ground were raised up four or five feet. These had vertical, slit-like windows. The portions that were not raised were pock-marked with holes in a roughly grid-like pattern. The holes were too small for most Pokémon to fit through, so they must have been sky-lights or breathing holes. Quil was leading them to a small hole near the periphery of the 'building' that turned out to be earthen stairs leading underground.

An underground structure, eh? thought Squirtle. Wonder how deep it goes, and what reasons Blindhollow has for digging underground instead of constructing above.

Squirtle stopped at the top of the staircase, turning about to see if there were any onlookers. A couple of ordinary buildings were nearby, yet Quil had chosen to enter this strange underground staircase inside a hole. Why? Squirtle couldn't complain though; no curious faces looked back at him, which meant in terms of stealth, so far so good. He followed Quil tentatively down the hard stairs.

After only fifteen or so steps, the staircase terminated with a large door made of unshaped, bare rock. The frame was sturdy and featured hinges, but Squirtle saw no reason to open the door and peek inside. Thankfully Quil had not peeked either. He crouched on the small landing by the door that led inside.

The rainfall began in earnest. As Squirtle reached the final few steps, at which point the sloped ceiling above the door blocked out the sky, he hesitated. The pitter-patter of rain actually felt pleasant against the top of his bare head. And shell. And arms and legs, feet and hands. The rain steadied to become a constant shower, but far from feeling like an unpleasant barrage, the feeling was closer to snuggling up in a warm bed. Squirtle struggled to compare the feeling to the experiences of his past life, which elicited flashes of sensation. The warmth of a merry fireplace, the tender loosening of muscle under a friendly massage, a satisfied belly full of delicious food. The rainfall was none of these sensations, but reminded Squirtle of each of them. He slumped down on the last step that was still exposed to the rain, and closed his eyes with his face pointing to the clouds.

“Water-types,” said Quil in a sarcastically exasperated tone. Squirtle imagined he was rolling his eyes behind those creases.

Squirtle smiled, but made no other response to the jab. The natural music of the pouring rain was too calming. With luck, their trip through Blindhollow so far should not have raised any red flags to Raizula or anyone else in charge, so Squirtle saw no reason not to relax for a while in their cozy underground staircase.

Squirtle repositioned himself to the belly-down position he always fell asleep in, as if he were sun tanning. The sound and feel of the raindrops against his skin, and even his shell, loosened him up. He could easily take a nap and feel fully rejuvenated afterward. Actually, he figured he'd feel refreshed whether he fell asleep or not. What about Quil though?

He lazily cracked his eyes open. Quil, thankfully, seemed content as well. He lay curled up in the corner opposite the door, clutching the Totter Seed. His flames were at their usual height and intensity. The spot he chose was the spot farthest from the rain. No coincidence there.

With a rise of melancholy, Squirtle recalled the realization he'd had following the training session that Keel the Marshtomp had kindly given him. Every time they encountered water, he and Quil would have opposite reactions. That included rain, evidently. What a shame. Squirtle fancied that two Water-type Pokémon or two Fire-type Pokémon traveling together would have their priorities and comfort zones better aligned, but Quil and he had gotten along quite well so far, even as opposites of a sort. Besides, the tactical center of Squirtle's mind reminded him that two Pokémon of the same Type would never have the same potential in a battle as two Pokémon of different Types.

What would it be like, thought Squirtle lethargically, to be a Fire-type like Quil? Is he warm all the time? Or does he not feel heat, so that he can be comfortable in very hot environments like in a desert? Or even inside a fire? He verbalized his questions to Quil.

Quil chuckled. “I'm flabbergasted right now as I watch you lie in the rain and enjoy it. Really, it's amazing to me. But I'm sure you're thinking the reverse when you look back at me. Knowing what it feels like to be a different Type, let alone a different Pokémon, is impossible. I'm not sure if you remember this, but most Pokémon soon after they hatch go through a phase of amazement at the huge differences between their Type and all the rest. And that's just Type, right? Every species of 'mon is so different from just about every other species that it's impossible to relate. Rest easily knowing that everyone feels the same way though.”

“You get used to it? You don't keep wondering at how incomprehensible other Pokémon seem?”

“You get used to it.” His eye creases scrunched up further. “And to answer your question, I feel warmth just like everyone else, but it never bothers me. I'm comfortable in the heat like most Flames. Unless it's really hot, like a Flame's attack.”

For the umpteenth time, Squirtle found himself curious about Quil's vision capabilities. How could the Cyndaquil see when his eyes appeared to be so tightly shut? Could he really see through those thin wrinkles? While on the subject of the vast differences between Pokémon species and Types, this might be the perfect time to ask Quil about it without being too impolite. Quil had taken offense to the suggestion of his being on fire being strange, but this was as good a chance as Squirtle thought he would get.

“Quil, I've wondered every now and then about your eyes,” said Squirtle tentatively. “Is, er, your field of vision very wide?”

Unfortunately, Quil did not appear to be listening. He'd shifted from his comfortable curled up position to an uncertain crouch. He said, “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a problem.”

Rainwater was beginning to pool at the bottom of the staircase where Quil as of yet remained dry. Squirtle hadn't noticed, but now he saw twin rivulets of water draining down the staircase from outside and stagnating on the landing. In less than a minute, the landing would be a puddle.

Squirtle knew what the answer would be if he suggested going back out into the rain. They were pinned. Only one option remained.

“Let's see if we can't get this door open.”

“I could try to boil away some of the water with my Ember technique, but that's only a temporary fix. I think you're right, we have to go inside.”

Squirtle dug his fingers and claws into the groove between the door and the frame, and Quil placed his forelimbs alongside. Together they pulled.

“Thanks Squirtle, by the way. I know this isn't according to plan. At least we get to see more of Blindhollow!”

Squirtle grunted in acknowledgment and in exertion. The door swung ponderously open. Once the entry was large enough for Squirtle's rigid shell to scrape through, the pair slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind them. The sound of the rainfall vanished as the heavy stone door closed with barely a sound. Squirtle's eyes roamed over the new surroundings.

Quil and he stood on a landing halfway down a fairly lengthy staircase that connected three floors. Upward led to ground level, and downward led deeper underground. Ahead of them, opposite the door, stretched a corridor, with the ground made of solid rock, and the ceiling and walls made of earth. On both sides, rooms were regularly spaced. Some were small, while a few could have accommodated a Dragonite. Each was dimly illuminated by a small port in the ceiling: the holes that Squirtle had observed from outside. They granted the only measly light for the entire floor. Squirtle could hear the sound of water dripping down from the holes in each room.

Most of the rooms had no doors or coverings, but a couple of them farther down the corridor had some white substance stretched across their entrances. Once Squirtle noticed the barriers had a geometric pattern with radial symmetry, he realized they were webs. Not the kind that marked a room as derelict, but the fresh and resilient variety.

The Prison, Squirtle realized in a flash. These weren't rooms, they were cells. The ones sealed by web were likely occupied, with the open ones currently vacant.

What did a Pokémon have to do to be sealed away underground like this? In a culture where fighting was the norm and Pokémon greeted each other with violence, what did a Pokémon have to do to be considered unfit for society? Squirtle went through a quick list of crimes he could recall, but most seemed like a lesser offense among Pokémon, if an offense at all. How could assault ever be taken seriously with everyone so durable, and battling so accepted? Was arson a crime among Fire-types if they lost control, or if a stray ember from a battle ignited someone's property? Countless other crimes were impossible because of the low level of technology or other aspects of the Pokémon lifestyle.

For what, then, were these inmates isolated? What sort of Pokémon were they?

Quil nudged him, and gestured left down the staircase with some whispered words. “We should get out of sight, Squirtle. This must be the Prison, and I don't think prisons would be unattended. To watch the prisoners there might be--”

“Guards,” finished Squirtle, mentally slapping himself. He'd been lost in thought while in plain view. Maybe the stone portal closing had attracted attention? He crept down the stairs after Quil but kept his eyes on the cells lining the walls.

The form of some large Pokémon crawled along the ceiling into view at the distant end of the corridor. As the cells slipped out of view, Squirtle marked the vivid colors of its body, the ivory mandibles and horn, and numerous spindly legs. Then he was hidden further down the staircase.

As Squirtle and Quil continued cautiously down the stone staircase, a musty smell met Squirtle's nostrils. The smell of damp, dark places beneath the surface where little to no airflow could occur. The light level decreased as they progressed, making Quil's colorful fire stand out all the more. Squirtle was suddenly aware of the sound of his breathing. It was quieter further down the staircase. He followed closely to Quil, anxious to reach the bottom. The Pokémon from the upper floor might even now be peering down the staircase.

The staircase ended with a quarter-turn to the right, placing the pair out of view from above. The bottom floor was similar in lay-out to the floor they'd come from. Cells were hollowed out of every wall along the corridor, which met another corridor perpendicularly at the far end. Unlike the upper floor, all of these cells were empty and unsealed, and nearly everything was composed of rock. Silent torches burned in intermittent sconces to provide irregular lighting. Some burned brighter than others, and a couple were completely out. The air was cool, the stone chilly beneath Squirtle's feet.

Squirtle and Quil tentatively walked away from the staircase. For once, Squirtle felt uncomfortable within the little glow of Quil's fire. He imagined the furtive shadows of locked-up Pokémon watching the light from the dark recesses of the cells. Every eye would be on Quil's glow as they walked. Squirtle turned and began to walk backwards, just in case.

Here, the atmosphere was very quiet. The small claws on Squirtle's six toes scraped the stone with the smallest of sounds that was nonetheless audible. Squirtle could hear the hiss of Quil's ordinarily nigh-imperceptible fire. A mechanized humming crescendoed then faded from somewhere far above. Movement.

“One of the Magnemite line, right? Could be a guard or a prisoner,” whispered Quil. “Erm, never mind. Only guards can move around.”

“Maybe we should stop here and hole up in one of these empty cells, Quil. We're out of the rain, and I doubt we'll be bothered down here during the night.”

Quil faced him, and with his back's fire facing away, his face was shadowy. “Aw, are you sure?Exploring this place in secret is kind of exciting!”

I'm sure you'd be singing a different tune if there was a threat that required battling, thought Squirtle, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply shook his head and quick-stepped into the nearest cell, hoping Quil would follow. Thankfully, he did. They settled down in a corner of one of the cells close to the T-intersection of their corridor with another.

In an attempt to recover some of his dignity, Squirtle said, “Sunset's probably come and gone by now. Shall we get some sleep?”

“Mm, today's been quite a day, so I'm ready to...” he trailed off, and Squirtle could tell his attention was focused on something outside of the cell.

A sense of foreboding enclosed Squirtle's senses. He peered about for anything amiss in the dimness that was the bottom floor of the Prison. The uniformly dark corners and dim rock face made the quick scan easy. The glow of each torch was unequal in size and strength, but steady. Nothing was moving. Then Squirtle noticed the one thing that had attracted Quil's attention. One spot was moving.

Somewhere along the intersecting corridor, barely out of sight, some light source was flickering. The light it cast was not vanishing then reappearing, but constantly changing its exact brightness and shape. The glow was organic, not artificially designed to be steady like the other torches. The light source might simply have been a torch sputtering toward its end as the last of its fuel was consumed, except that the light it cast was strong and bright. Squirtle knew that torches grew dimmer and weaker until they died, not more powerful and expansive.

“Strange,” whispered Quil. “Looks like the light from a campfire or a fireplace. Oh, maybe there's a little den where a guard left a fire going!”

Squirtle chose not to comment on the likelihood of that possibility, but could not deny that he too was curious to see the source of the glow. Considering that no alarms had been raised and no Pokémon had followed them down the staircase, it was safe to say that carefully snooping around a bit more would have no negative side-effects.

“Let's check it out.”

Together, they crept to where their corridor ended and another began, stretching far to the left and right. Squirtle and Quil poked their heads around the right corner. More empty cells arrayed both walls. These cells were larger, likely intended for suitably larger Pokémon. The torches in this corridor were as untended as the previous ones, and again, all surfaces were natural rock.

The source of the aberrant light was clear. At ground level within one of the cells, a flame of yellow and red danced. The fire looked to be coming from a thick, smooth stick that trailed away into the darkness of the cell's rear. If it was a torch, it was a strange one. No torch handle was that thick, and it looked to have an abnormal color. Orange?

Quil kept moving toward the light, and this time Squirtle continued with no second thoughts. He wanted to get a closer look at the wavering flame.

“This doesn't make sense,” whispered Quil, as they approached the entrance to the cell. “None of the other cells had torches in them.”

Something in the cell stirred. Squirtle could hear a great bulk shifting around in the dark. With the motion, Squirtle could better see what exactly was on fire. It was the tail-tip of some massive Pokémon. The flame lifted off the ground a couple of feet, illuminating a shape that snaked out of the darkness. Upon a lengthy neck, the fanged snout of a Charizard emerged into the firelight. The Charizard's eyes slid open and fixed on Squirtle and Quil.


	14. Story

Squirtle and Quil did not move a muscle. On the lowest floor of Blindhollow's Prison, they stood stock-still on the cold rock in front of an occupied cell. Within lay a Charizard, and its blue eyes were fixed on them.

“This is not my home, it's the cage where I'm locked away. You needn't worry about intruding.” His voice was powerful and deep, befitting a Charizard. Though his tone was subdued to match the environment, his voice was strong enough to match any shout that Squirtle could have produced.

“A Magnezone's Barrier seals off the cell. If I succumbed to the shadow in my heart, I would be powerless to fulfill its craving,” he went on.

He parted his lengthy jaws enough to spew a small jet of flame toward the pair. Squirtle side-stepped as Quil stumbled back a couple of steps with a cry, but the bright flame halted at the border of the cell and the corridor. The air at the border had a silvery sheen that Squirtle had not noticed before with his attention fixated on the Charizard's tail flame. The translucent barrier blocked the Charizard's flame jet, and the surroundings plunged into relative darkness once more.

The Charizard shifted in his cell until he stood upright on the other side of the barrier. If his mass and height were not impressive enough, then Squirtle figured the thick tail, blue wings, muscled legs, and sharp claws tipping every digit were enough to intimidate most Pokémon. Especially in an eerie place like the depths of the Prison. The Charizard curled his tail to position the flame in front of his belly so that he was not wreathed in shadow. Squirtle wondered if it was a scare tactic meant to highlight his bulk and fearsome head, or a considerate gesture to grant him and Quil light to see by.

Neither of the pair said a word. The Charizard continued. “Relax, I implore you. The protection from me that you experience is insurmountable. Granite walls to scorn my hottest fire and most cutting swipe. A cold, cramped, and quiet place to suppress my spirit and dampen my rage. A frequently renewed Barrier coupled with surveillance to prevent my escape. Do you understand? Even when I can't help but hurt those close to me, my cage prevents it.”

Squirtle swallowed to wet his throat. Despite the Pokémon's circumstances, he felt obligated to speak for the sake of manners. “An effective prison, then.”

“Yes. Because I designed it for myself, employing every disadvantage I could conceive. I am perfectly trapped here, through rage and melancholy. This is my fate.”

Squirtle blinked. The Charizard had sounded psychotic initially, but now he wasn't even making sense. No one imprisoned oneself.

The Charizard trained his eyes on Squirtle. “I sometimes yearn for the sun, but your skepticism shines as brilliantly right in front of my nose. But would you believe this isn't me? That the Pokémon locked away in here isn't what you see?”

“I believe you,” ventured Quil. “I think. You'd have no reason to lie or confuse us when you're sealed up like this.”

Quil, it doesn't matter if he thinks he's being truthful, thought Squirtle. Crazy Pokémon can't tell the truth, because they don't know what the truth is. He dared not speak his thoughts aloud.

“Correct, Cyndaquil. Your companion is yet unconvinced. I beseech you, rest yourselves and listen to my words. Months have passed since a Pokémon has passed by my cell. The sole exception is the Magnezone charged by me with my imprisonment. While he knows all too well the wisdom of keeping me locked in here, you two do not. Listen to me. Understand my pain, and my misery.”

Squirtle looked at Quil to gauge how he felt. Interested, excited perhaps. Squirtle stifled his sigh as he joined Quil in slumping down in front of the cell. With the rain outside, they couldn't very well leave anyways.

The Charizard towered over them until, with a forlorn smile, he himself lay down and curled up like an Eevee. He'd seemed bulky and inflexible while standing so tall, but laying down Squirtle could see his body was quite sinuous. Like a campfire, the Charizard's flame lit up Squirtle's and Quil's faces, as well as the half of the Charizard's face that faced them where his head rested on the stone. The Charizard began his tale.

* * *

Years ago, a Charizard named Chando lived in a prosperous seaside town. How many years, I cannot tell you, for measuring time from this cell is impossible. The town lay far to the northeast from here. It was called Port Rein. Your blank expressions tell me you have not heard of it. Be grateful for that.

Chando was a member of an industrious and successful family. His sister, a Charmeleon, was a smith and metalworker in training. She aimed for her tools and parts to benefit Port Rein and its 'mon on a large scale. Chando's father was a Feraligatr, and an aquafarmer of great skill. The plants he tended beneath the waves served many uses, not the least of which was a food source. His mother, a Charizard, was a weather scout. She'd earned her aptitude at reading and predicting the weather patterns through study, practice, and daily flights to key meteorological locations.

Like Chando's family, all in Port Rein worked at their trade as if their lives depended on it. The reality was no different than their imaginations. Port Rein was located in a rough, mountainous land. Isolated, cold, hard, and wind-scarred, Port Rein was a place that most Pokémon could not endure. Though Chando needed to perform well to thrive in such a place, his ambition urged him to surpass necessity and achieve a heroic standing. To stand among legend.

As a Charmander, Chando decided he wanted to be a carrier. Enamored of the large Pokémon who made it their trade to transport 'mon from place to place, Chando sought to join their ranks if he managed to evolve wings. This was because he witnessed a perilous battle in the sky among the fluted peaks of the mountains. A Dragonite was being harried by two wild Braviary, a thousand feet in the sky. The Dragonite was burdened by a Bagon and Snorunt as its passengers, leaving it unable to retaliate against its harassers. Chando feared for all both the Dragonite and its passengers, for how could they escape without fighting back? The Dragonite would surely fail its duty to protect its two passengers.

In a remarkable display of skill and courage, the Dragonite rolled its body through the air as it hurled a twisting Dragon technique at one of the Braviary. The Bagon and Snorunt were tossed from the Dragonite's back, helplessly plummeting earthward. Before the second Braviary could land another strike, it was met with a crackling punch of lightning from the tenacious Dragonite. In a flash, the Dragonite was diving nose-first after the falling Bagon and Snorunt like a swooping Staraptor.

Seconds from impact, the Dragonite expertly caught its passengers on its back once more, before soaring away on its route. Chando saw the two Braviary strike the ground a moment later. A single attack each from the Dragonite had weakened both to the point of being unable to fly. When Chando realized that fact, and knew that he could use such skill as a Charizard to assist ground-bound Pokémon, he finally knew what he wanted to do.

Chando trained. He battled. He traveled. Years passed before the day of his final evolution arrived. Now a winged Charizard, he received instruction by veteran carriers. Still, he did not let up on his daily battling practices, his stringent diet, his constant self-improvement mindset. All were a component of his desire to become unstoppable, indomitable. The carrier who never failed. One day, he would regret his perfectionism, but at the time he foolishly believed that more power would bring him happiness.

Chando's mother was cautiously proud as he surpassed her in fighting ability, then again when he became her better in long-distance flight. He'd relentlessly improved his endurance and speed. It wasn't long before Chando playfully challenged his father to a battle. Despite Type disadvantage, Chando was victorious. He smiled a humble smile, but roared inside at the milestone.

As a carrier, too, Chando focused always on improvement. No time existed in his self-imposed schedule for friendships, for finding a mate. Always, he was on the move to find more clients and complete their transport. Maybe the joy that developing his power brought him overshadowed all the other joys in his life. Maybe he lived only for improvement and power because he had never known anything else. Maybe he focused so intently on his personal progress because of the impact that inspiring day had on him. Even now, I am not sure what drove him. That was simply how Chando was.

A couple of years into Chando's thriving career as a carrier, history repeated itself. Chando was on a simple delivery of a Dwebble named Stebbin to Port Rein. As he flew over the mountains near his home, a pair of Braviary took off from a peak in pursuit. Oh, how it burns my insides to relate to you that moment! My chest is heavy, my throat tightens! I must continue, and suffer this torture once again, for no one but myself brought about Chando's downfall.

Though Chando knew he could out-fly them, the memories of the Dragonite's heroics surged into his vision and blinded him to all other courses of action. Chando saw only the most outrageous and perilous path. He saw that moment as his chance to fulfill his childhood dream, his chance to measure how far he'd come, and his chance to prove to himself that his life's work up until then had been a success. That is what he thought. The fool!

Chando grinned savagely as his mouth filled with fire. Ordinarily, if he was forced to engage wild 'mon en route, he would have stayed at range and disengaged from the fight as soon as possible. Not so here. This was his moment. Chando charged into the first Braviary as he allowed the fire to spill out and envelop him. Cyndaquil, you might know this technique as Flare Blitz. Chando's passenger, Stebbin, was ejected from his back after the wash of flame and hard recoil from the impact. Chando recognized it as a necessary consequence, and determined he would have plenty of time to catch the Dwebble before he struck the ground. Situations like this were what Chando had trained for, so he thought he could not fail.

The Braviary attacked him with their beaks, talons, and wings. They manipulated the very air into offensive strikes. They used powerful techniques that Chando had rarely encountered from one foe, and never two. Still, he easily withstood the assault, and returned their passion twofold. The fight was decided after Chando used his fiery breath on the Braviary, his most honed and destructive move. The Braviary flapped away in retreat, with one beneath the other for support.

Like a hatchling drawing out its first decisively victorious battle, Chando had tarried too long in the fight. On any other delivery, a demonstration of his fighting abilities to repel the attackers would have been satisfactory for him. Today, though, he was overzealous. He needed to live up to his expectations. Once Chando glanced earthward and saw just how far Stebbin had fallen, fear and doubt clawed his heart. He pointed his nose at the Dwebble, and executed a mighty wingstroke before tucking his wings against his body.

Chando knew that the Dwebble's body shape would have prevented him from achieving a high maximum falling speed. The Charizard's own streamlined position, which he'd practiced a hundred times, permitted him to continue accelerating downward even after fifteen seconds. As if that speed could stop anything awful from occurring. As if any speed could stop the inevitable! The jagged slopes of the snowy mountains appeared to Chando to be quickly approaching, but Stebbin's body approached even faster. But it was not enough, it was never enough!

Yes, Chando reached Stebbin before his time was up. Chando did not, however, have time to fully unfurl his wings and slow down beneath the Dwebble. His belly collided with the mountainside, knocking the wind from his lungs and the light from his eyes. As he descended into darkness, Chando saw Stebbin tossed once again from his back toward the snowy canyon below.

When he awoke, Chando was too weak to move for many hours. He fancied the incident as a dream, for his failure to execute the aerial rescue was incomprehensible to him. Eventually he searched for the Dwebble with rising panic, but could find no trace of his sometime passenger. The area to search was too large, and Chando had lost consciousness before he could properly estimate Stebbin's trajectory. In his distress Chando was not himself. A tumult of frightening emotions bred in his belly. Guilt, rage, disappointment, anguish, hatred. They would be his companion for the rest of his life, though he knew only the current moment.

Chando had been a self-created prodigy. Having trained so intensely for so long, he no longer made mistakes. The touch of total failure was unknown to his hardened mind. Accordingly, that day was the first in a new phase of his life. To him, he had failed the Dragonite that inspired him those years ago. He had failed his duty as a carrier, and he had failed his passenger Stebbin. He had failed himself and all the goals and expectations he had thought he'd met. He failed his family and the other hard-working denizens of the Port Rein area who had believed in him and marked him for great success. He had failed as a Charizard, a master of the sky and aerial maneuvering. He had failed. Failed, failed, failed. The words rang in his head. On certain days, they still do.

With that violent brew of emotions stewing, Chando returned to Port Rein, battered on the outside and mangled within. He could not, did not know how to handle what he felt inside. So Chando manifested the emotions in the only way he knew. He attacked. I wish vehemently that this story was exaggeration, or better yet, a great lie. No. Chando attacked Port Rein with the full brunt of his emotion.

His fiery breath vented his rage. The slashes of his claws were his pain. His loss could be felt in the force of his wing-beats. Every roar expressed his shame. When the Pokémon of the town stood against him, he fought them with a passion none had ever seen from Chando. His years of tireless training and growth were obvious to every 'mon in Port Rein that day. None could stop his rampage.

Listen now to the most frightening piece of the story. Chando enjoyed it. The relief and vigor he felt as he destroyed his home somehow granted meaning to the emotions that Chando could not name at the time. When he slammed his bulk into his parents' house, the sensation and the effort were a respite from the suffering that burned in his belly. And when he tore through his sister's metalworking shop, the torment from his failure did not bite so deeply, if only for a moment.

The following morning, a new Charizard awoke in the ruins of Port Rein. Me. Nothing remained in Port Rein but smoldering ashes and worthless debris. The battle hunger and fierce emotions of the previous day had fled. I certainly regretted the pointless destruction Chando had wrought, and the failure of his delivery stung too. Yet no powerful emotion could touch me, in the new day. I could think clearly.

I curled my body around some of the remains of my childhood home as I thought deeply about what to do with myself. When the sun set, I flew south and west. Due to Chando's many tasks and travels as a carrier, I was quite familiar with most Pokémon settlements and the lands that surrounded them. One in particular, Blindhollow, was famed for its Seed Nursery tended by a Wartortle. I hoped that the quiet town beneath the vast plain would help calm my roiling mind. I could think of nowhere more peaceful.

Once arrived, I prioritized making sure that what happened at Port Rein would never happen again. For that, I knew I had to be kept in check. I, myself, was the problem. I could feel those emotions, that state of destructive potential, lurking inside of me. It was only a combination of willpower, distraction, and spent emotion that kept me from losing control anew.

When I related the gist of my tale to a Magnezone who lived in Blindhollow, the meaning and severity of my words were not quite captured. The force and passion, however, were entirely understood by the Magnezone. I begged the Magnezone to help restrict me, somehow, before another terrible incident could happen. Together, we worked out the best ways to negate my abilities.

I frantically paid most of the residents of Blindhollow to help me, as I feared there was insufficient time to explain why I needed their help. Chando had amassed quite a hoard from working as a carrier far and wide. I tasked them with digging until they encountered the rock layer that lies deep underground. I dug alongside them. Next, they carved out the rough architecture for a small prison. It has been expanded and refined since then. Lastly, I crawled into the cell and requested the Magnezone to seal it with his Barrier technique.

For the first while, everyone in Blindhollow thought me mad. They were soon proven perfectly correct. The next day, I suffered my first fit. Visions of that day at Port Rein assailed my senses. The same emotions returned in full force. During that time, I was Chando once more. The hero in his own mind who had lost everything.

Chando knew only the need to wreck, destroy, and hurt. Chando unleashed himself upon his cell seeking to escape and be free. Thankfully, his calmer self had foreseen how he might behave, and therefore designed the perfect countermeasures. I have already relayed to you two why exactly I am unable to escape from this cell.

The fit lasted two days. Finally, drained of energy and emotion, Chando awoke to his calmer self once more. I mourned the loss of my sanity, and questioned whether I was ever sane to begin with. Another question to which I still do not have the answer. I requested that the Magnezone continue to renew his Barrier if I suffered additional fits.

A week later, I underwent a similar fit for three days. An interval of a week and a half followed. Then, another fit. Like a cycle of sickness, the fits come and go. They bring flashbacks of both sensation and emotion. I am helpless to repel, control, or even delay them. The fits are as fierce as Chando was that terrible day. Unstoppable, indomitable. Every week or two, I suffer a fit that lasts one to three days. Nothing I have ever done has changed that, and I have tried every conceivable method in the endless duration of my imprisonment here.

Once it was clear that my ailment occurred in a persistent cycle, Magnezone ordered a custom-fit restraining device made of metal to be transported to Blindhollow. That is the contraption you see in the corner of my cell, there. I can place it on myself when I am due for another fit, and only the Magnezone can remove it with his magnetic abilities. That helps mitigate the damage I do to my cell, which is considerable. You can see the innumerable gouges from my claws on every surface, just as every surface is blackened from the heat of my hottest fires. The integrity and indestructibility of this cell are crucial to the well-being of every Pokémon within miles. No precaution is too strict.

I will not forget that day at Port Rein. The worst, and the best, of Chando's terrible life. All of the negative emotions, especially his sense of failure, mark it as the worst. But the relief, the ability to respond to all of those emotions by taking action in spectacular fashion, mark it as the best. Wreaking such destruction on his home, while innately terrible, was immensely comforting and pleasing in comparison to bearing the emotions but taking no action. Without a doubt, it was a day that I will never, ever forget.

I cannot retract these claws, and they remind me every day of the damage I've caused. I cannot change my face, even though I can smell and see the fear in every Pokémon who has visited me and knows what Chando did. I cannot ever stop being this dangerous, feral force. My fate is to suffer knowing what I am. I can feel that knowledge tearing me apart, but I have the strength to continue living. The same vitality, skill, and urge to improve myself that Chando had lives in me and keeps me alive. I have no choice. I cannot change my situation.

I'm obviously a prisoner. But I'm also imprisoned by my past, imprisoned by my inability to die, and imprisoned by my helplessness in changing the fitful cycle I suffer. And when the shadow in my heart escapes again, I'll be imprisoned in Chando's senseless mind once more. I cannot change a thing. That is why I must suffer endlessly, alone in this darkness.

That brings me to why I begged you to stay and hear my story. Do you understand now, Cyndaquil, Squirtle? Do you comprehend the essential wisdom in my tale?

Nothing like this can ever happen again. Do you hear me? Never. If I were not confined here, I would be traveling these lands to ensure that no one could ever suffer as my victims or myself have. However, I must be confined here, because my imprisonment is far more important than any other preventative measure. So listen to me now so that the disaster of my life cannot repeat.

Never strive for power just to become more powerful. Chando never wanted to get better at his job as a carrier, even if that's what he told himself. Inspired by the Dragonite, all he ever sought was power for power's sake. He lost sight of what should have been the meaning of his life: using his strength and abilities for service. For being proud of his accomplishments. For making the world safer, more connected. A better world. Instead, Chando sought to improve because of a childhood fantasy that was twisted into a selfish longing. He set himself on a dark, self-consuming road that has no end.

It gladdens me that my two visitors are unevolved. If you see the wisdom in my story, you will be cautious with the goals you set for yourselves. There is plenty of time for you two. Time is all but meaningless for me, now. My past and my future are fixed. Your futures are fluid though. Please, create your tomorrows with the foresight tempered by my story. Do not allow anyone to make the same mistakes Chando made.

* * *

The Charizard was finished speaking. One large blue eye watched Squirtle and Quil from behind his tail flame with something like relief. Squirtle's gloomy surroundings came back to him with the quiet.

Squirtle considered the tale with suspicion. Although it explained who the Charizard was and why he was sealed away alone in this dark prison, some pieces of the story were hard to accept. Could one Pokémon actually become powerful enough to destroy an entire town and defeat all of its inhabitants? 

More importantly, was the psychological condition that the Charizard suffered possible? The 'fits' sounded like post-traumatic stress flashbacks. Squirtle doubted he was a psychiatrist, but flashbacks following a distressing incident seemed conceivable. Although, could they occur in a regular cycle, and take over his mind as he described? Well, when Squirtle acknowledged his own situation as an amnesiac transformed Pokémon with issues distinguishing self, he figured the Charizard's story could not be called outlandish.

Further, the Barrier was certainly present. That was no lie. Nor was the custom-fit metal restraining device mentioned in the story. Squirtle saw a series of connected metallic hoops in the cell gleam dully in the fire-light. He guessed they were meant to immobilize the Charizard's arms, legs, tail, neck, and wings, as the hoops were of various sizes. The story had a chance of being true, certainly.

“Thank you for the story,” said Quil politely. “The fire reminded me of being at home and hearing stories from my mother and father. I have a question though: Why did you refer to yourself as Chando in the story when it was you all along? You're the same 'mon, aren't you?”

“No,” said the Charizard firmly. “That is not me anymore. Chando is the monster that destroyed his home. Chando is the ferocious beast that inflicts only pain and destruction. Chando is the shadow in my heart. He isn't me.”

Quil hastily nodded at the Charizard's emphatic words.

“So, Chan-- er, Charizard,” began Squirtle, “Speaking from experience, what would you do with Pokémon who abuse their immense power like uh, Chando did, but won't seal themselves away? Pokémon who didn't earn and don't deserve their power, but who use it to subjugate others and live however they want?”

Quil's eyes didn't widen, but Squirtle sensed a sudden comprehension there.

The Charizard's gaze became flinty. “You are saying there are others like Chando? Others who might destroy what they should be protecting?!”

Squirtle took a couple of steps back despite the silvery Barrier between him and the Charizard. His protection no longer seemed ensured. Could anger trigger one of the Charizard's fits? He and Quil might have to get out of there, quickly. The Charizard wasn't wearing his metal restraining device.

“No, no, not exactly,” he explained. “The situations aren't identical. I don't suppose you've heard of the recent phenomenon regarding Electric-types?”

The Charizard's nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “I apologize. My anger will not avail us in any way. No, Squirtle, I know little of the happenings beyond this cell and this corridor.”

Squirtle summarized his knowledge of the Electric issue. He talked primarily about what he'd witnessed in Karprest with Stolt the Luxio, and what he suspected in the case of Raizula the Raichu. Quil chipped in every now and then with some detail or opinion. With the Charizard unable to interact with the world, what harm would it do for him to hear some news? Besides, Squirtle felt a tad guilty when the Charizard revealed that he did not hear about the goings-on of the surface world. He did not even know of the state of Blindhollow, a hundred feet above!

The Charizard spoke after a period of thoughtful quiet. “Pokémon like the ones you describe have no concern for those lower than them. Having sacrificed nothing, and with no wisdom earned, these Pokémon will only grow more arrogant and contemptuous. Some rare few may not succumb, but I know well the self-assured satisfaction that power grants. You are too late. They will not listen to what you say, because anything that threatens the power they wield will be ignored or eliminated.”

Squirtle's heart fell. There must be some advice this Charizard had to deal with the Electric boost. “Before the fight with the Braviary, is there nothing that could have stopped Chando?”

“These situations are not fairly comparable. However, I advise you try to undermine their power in some fashion. As Chando was burdened by his passenger's safety, you must make your battles unequal. Secure every advantage you can.”

Fair advice, thought Squirtle. Though there's no way I'll be taking on an Electric-type any time soon, even in an unfair fight. Besides, it's not my problem. Not really.

Quil did not look like he had anything to add or any questions to ask, so Squirtle thought it was time to get going.

“I'll remember your story, Charizard. Quil and I should be moving along though. Do you think the rain has stopped?” he asked Quil. The Charizard answered.

“The rainfall has not relented, and likely won't for quite some time, based on when it began.”

“How did you--” began Quil, but the Charizard kept talking.

“You have no desire to leave the Prison while it persists, am I correct Cyndaquil? I recommend resting in one of the cells among these corridors. I am the sole resident of this floor, and the Magnezone will not return to renew the Barrier for many hours, as he recently renewed it. You will not be disturbed down here.”

Squirtle pondered their position. Stay here all night? Unwise. We're safer out in the grasses by the path. Chando is unlikely to be wrong about his rain duration estimate though, since he's doubtless lived here for long enough to pick up on weather patterns. From in his cell, somehow. We'll be taking a risk by staying here for so long, but I'll do it for Quil.

“Are you fine with that, Squirtle?” asked Quil with clear hope in his tone. “I think we should trust Charizard's rain predictions over either of ours, since we're not from around here.”

“Mm. It's far from optimal, but we can't help the rain. Let's find a cozy cell.”

The pair said their goodbyes and continued down the corridor past the Charizard's cell. The huge Pokémon watched them go. “Never forget my words, though I hope we never meet again.”

Squirtle passed many empty cells and turned into another corridor before even considering the passing cells. He wanted some distance and privacy from the Charizard. Quil did not object. Since Quil had said in the past that he preferred sleeping with his fire burning, Squirtle chose to settle down for the night in a cell opposite one of the more vigorous torches. They'd be easy to spot in any case, so they may as well have the additional comfort of torchlight. Quil approved of the small cell he'd selected.

Like everywhere on the bottom floor of the Prison, the cell was made entirely of cold stone. Squirtle half-expected to find old bones in the corner, but thankfully the cell was bare except for a bench and the decomposed remains of some grass bedding. Both of them avoided the grass and settled by the back corner on plain rock. Sleeping would not be comfortable. The alternative was rain or someplace wet, which was drastically worse than cold stone. For Quil at least. The unforgiving rock was made more tolerable in Squirtle's mind, since it would make Quil more comfortable.

Peace and quiet. The Charizard had said they would not be bothered, and strangely enough, Squirtle was inclined to believe him. They could fully relax before dealing with their stealthy escape in the morning. 

Briefly, Squirtle thought about the Charizard's story again. The truth of the story and the storyteller's mental condition would not be easy to determine, as he and Quil could not ask around Blindhollow. They would soon leave and probably never return, anyway, so thinking further about the Charizard served no purpose except to arouse pity. The advice he gave them, though, Squirtle took to heart. Against an arrogant and self-assured Electric-type, he needed to secure every advantage he could. Level the playing field.

The worries and questions he'd pushed off earlier in the day were finally able to crawl their way back to the fore of his mind with the dimness and quiet. What were they doing here, really? This particular excursion had nothing to do with Quil's journey, and nothing to do with ascertaining who he was. Therefore, learning about Blindhollow should be pointless, though it didn't feel that way. Whether because of the intense experiences of Karprest or due to some misplaced sense of sympathy and solidarity with the Pokémon living in Blindhollow, Squirtle felt that exploring Blindhollow and talking to the Wartortle were worthwhile. Would he and Quil do anything with the information, though? Should they?

A long time passed in thought before Quil murmured a question.

“What're you thinking about?” His words were measured.

“Nothing terribly important. It's a strange situation we've ended up in. I'm wondering whether it was worth it to come to Blindhollow, and whether we're going to try to do something about this mess.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Evidently Quil was distracted.

“Do you have something on your mind?” As Squirtle finished his question, he could hear Quil's flames become a notch louder.

“Me? Um. To tell you the truth, there's something I've been trying to figure out for a while now. You've probably noticed. It's about...well, it's about you.”


	15. Dark

“Oh. You've been wondering something about me?” asked Squirtle as he subtly readjusted his position on the stone to face away from Quil more.

In a lonely cell on the bottom floor of Blindhollow's Prison, there was no easy way to evade the tough questions. And judging by Quil's tentative opener, some tough questions were on the way. Squirtle had a guess as to what Quil was interested in, and it was not a topic Squirtle was happy to discuss candidly.

Down here, no distractions separated Squirtle and Quil. If his friend felt like asking him a direct question, he had two options. Option one, answer fully and honestly, or option two, tell Quil that he was not comfortable responding. No middle ground could exist in this situation, because Squirtle could not say they had more important things to worry about. He could not answer with half-truths and mollifying words as he had been wont to do. Quil would be able to tell that Squirtle was being dishonest or misleading, and then their relationship would only deteriorate.

No, he either had to have an open-hearted discussion with Quil, or firmly ask Quil that they not talk about it and hope that Quil could respect a friendship with secrets. Anything less would lead to bad feelings and an unfair dynamic between them.

“I'll try to explain,” Quil said. “We've established that you're definitely not from around here. Strange turns of phrase come easily to you, and you've never heard of the sayings I use. You had to learn how to introduce yourself like all the 'mon around here do, and you didn't even know the apparently traditional greeting of the Squirtle line.”

Here, Quil's quiet voice sounded slightly more inquisitive. “Sometimes, I wondered about the other...troubles you've had along our way. For example, you were unsteady on your feet for the first couple of days, and you, er, moved strangely sometimes. You had no idea what to do during an ordinary encounter with a wild 'mon; I'm not sure you'd even Tackled anyone before. Also, ever since we've met, you've been asking the strangest questions. Those are a few examples I can think of right now, but I bet there are others.”

In a conceding tone, he continued. “All that makes sense. Even if being from some foreign land doesn't fully explain your...uniqueness, I just have to remember that you have severe memory loss. The way you behave isn't strange when I remember that.”

“Still, certain facts have been nagging at me that don't quite fit. The way you talk sometimes is amazing. You plan everything out, and you get this look on your face. You remember the expression 'Your head thinks, your gut knows'? Especially those first couple of days, you acted like the reverse. Whenever you don't know something, you're so curious that you look like you'd take on a Venusaur for the answers. I didn't know Pokémon could think the way you do until we met, no matter how foreign they might be.”

Squirtle kept very still so he wouldn't give away his nervousness with any uneasy movements. When he said nothing, Quil interpreted his silence as encouragement.

“Other little quirks about you don't make sense either, even considering that you don't have any specific memories and that you hatched somewhere far away. To me, the biggest sign that there's something else going on is that...on occasion you seem like you're holding something back when I mention how odd something you've said or done is.”

“Please don't get the wrong idea. I'm really not trying to accuse you of being a liar or a fake. Urgh, I'm no good at this sort of thing. Every time, it's obvious you don't want to talk about it, but I can't help but think about it every so often. So that's what's on my mind.”

As he feared, Quil hadn't been fully buying his explanations for a long time now. His companion was more attentive than Squirtle gave him credit for. Unfortunately that meant the time had come to talk openly with Quil. They'd stuck by each other in some sticky situations. Quil had earned Squirtle's candor, if he even needed to in the first place.

The same worries reared their ugly heads once more. One of Squirtle's greatest fears remained being alone in this world that he knew very little about. Fortune had smiled upon him when a Cyndaquil set him spinning in that clearing in Root Forest. The coming discussion would jeopardize that fortune. Quil could react with anger or distrust upon learning Squirtle's origins. Fear or confusion would be equally detrimental. One sentence could push away Squirtle's only friend and greatest advantage in this new life.

Nonetheless, their relationship was heading south anyway if Quil had been having these thoughts about him independently. Squirtle was learning more and fitting into his role better, but he assumed these beginnings of Quil's distrust would only grow worse.

Yes, he had to say what he knew. Divulging everything would be a relief anyway. Already, with the decision made, Squirtle no longer had to fight to keep still. With luck, Quil would be able to help him.

“You're correct. There is one piece of information I have that I...avoided sharing.”

“I knew it,” muttered Quil. The three words were no doubt intended to sound triumphant, but the hue of sorrow caused a fresh wave of guilt to roll through Squirtle.

“Listen, I never exactly lied! I tried not to, and I don't think I did. I was just never sure if saying everything I knew would be, um, helpful for us.”

Quil hardly sounded appeased. “I appreciate that, but if we could fully trust each other, this journey would be easier for both of us. Wouldn't it? I'm sorry for the times I wasn't straightforward, and I'll improve if it ever bothers you. In turn though, I hope you'll be straight with me on this. If it's about where you come from, I want to help!” He rose from his haunches to look excitedly down at Squirtle.

“I understand,” said Squirtle, and stood with his back to Quil. “I'll tell you. Right here and now. For better or worse.”

“You will, really? Fantastic!” 

Five minutes from now, Squirtle could be spending the night in a different cell, or trudging alone through the rain. The friendship they'd built could be a crumbled ruin. He took a deep breath, but his knees began to tremble.

“You see a Squirtle before you. A Squirtle that appears to have no battling experience, and little knowledge about any topic relating to Pokémon. Not even familiarity with his own body. It's as if he's something else merely disguised as a Squirtle. Something else in a Pokémon's body.”

He turned to face Quil fully. The Cyndaquil didn't say a word.

“I may look like it, but I'm not a Squirtle.”

It took Quil a moment to reply. “Huh. What do you mean? You look like every other Squirtle, and there's no move that changes your appearance that I've heard of. Oh, unless you mean you're a Ditto?”

Squirtle blinked, then exhaled a held breath. “No, Quil, I'm not a Ditto. I can't transform or change my shape. Or if I can, I've forgotten how,” he added soberly.

Squirtle could not see Quil's eyes, but his body language said 'blank stare', so Squirtle decided to probe Quil's knowledge.

“Do you know of any...creatures that aren't Pokémon? Heard any stories or rumors about non-Pokémon beings?”

“No, I can't think of any. What are you getting at? You're alive, you're not a plant, so you must be a Pokémon.”

What a relief! Quil had never heard of his kind, so he wouldn't have any prior opinion. Accordingly, Squirtle hit Quil with the critical word.

“I'm not a Squirtle, because I'm a human.”

“Hyoo – min? I would think this is some joke, but I know you don't joke around Squirtle. What's a human supposed to be?”

Squirtle sat down and permitted himself to relax a little. “Humans and Pokémon are two separate classes of being, just like plants and Pokémon. There is some overlap, but humans are totally different. They look almost like a Machoke, but also much like an Infernape, or sometimes a Jynx. Humans don't know any techniques or attacks to battle with, and they're way, way more fragile.”

“I could go on and on, but trust me, I know I used to be human. Traveling with you from the viewpoint of a Pokémon has been too huge of an eye-opener for me to not have originally been a human. I just know, in the same way I'm sure, that you know you're a Cyndaquil. Somewhere, somehow, I was transformed into a Squirtle. It's the only explanation I have. Don't ask me how it happened, but I was a human and now I'm in this Squirtle body. That should explain some of my strange behavior and gaps in knowledge.”

“Wow. So you were a human, but you don't remember who you were or what you were doing. Then you woke up where I found you in Root Forest as a Squirtle. Wait, that can't be right; why haven't I ever seen or heard of a human before?”

“I presume there aren't any living around here,” suggested Squirtle. “That's what I meant when I said I came from 'far away'.”

“I see. You don't have any proof that you were transformed, do you?”

“Right. Logically though, it's the only explanation.”

Quil did not sound convinced. “You never know, this is still a mystery! Maybe a Pokémon with a more...unconventional skillset, like a Psychic, put the idea in your head that you used to be an imaginary not-Pokémon called a human.”

“That...could be true. I suppose.” The idea scared him. If he couldn't trust his intrinsic beliefs and hunches, then maybe he really had been a Squirtle all along.

“It could have happened at the same time that your memories were removed or tampered with. Oh, alternatively, you were transformed, but it happened years ago. But when you were in Root Forest, a Pokémon removed all the memories you had of being a Squirtle for the last few years. You never know, right?”

“These possibilities never occurred to me. We already have proof that someone has meddled in my mind, so why couldn't they make me think whatever they wanted? Why couldn't they have made up a fictitious race called humanity and stuck it in my mind?”

Squirtle's eyes were wide as he considered Quil's theories. Really, Quil was just opening the door. He'd punched holes in Squirtle's early assumption that he had only recently been transformed into a Squirtle, if at all, when Quil bumped into him. With Pokémon around that could obtain access into the delicate composition of his mind, not a single cogitation he had could be trusted.

Quil broke in with an apologetic attitude. “I'm sorry Squirtle, I didn't mean to scare you. These theories are random ideas I just came up with that are almost too outrageous to be true. Please don't fret over them.”

“Quil, I've never been gladder that I told you what I am. Or what I think I am. Now I know, more than ever, that I need to find a Pokémon with Psychic talent to help me. I hope they'll manage to take a look inside my brain and ascertain what happened to me that day. Without that level of intervention, I can't even trust my own beliefs and vague, scant memories.”

“For what my guess is worth,” added Quil, “I believe that you must somehow be a non-Pokémon. I said it myself: there's no Pokémon like you.” He chuckled.

“Yes, I'm one of a kind. If only I knew why.” His eyes wandered away, to the stone of the cell walls. “I'd give anything to know.”

Lately he'd been distracted, but Squirtle realized once he started thinking about it again how much he craved to know the truth to his origin. Was there a purpose, or was it an accident? Was his appearance tied to the storm? What sort of person was he before his transformation? Was he a human, or were humans a mind-implanted lie?

Quil stepped closer and patted him on his shell back. “Thank you for talking with me about this. Iyrodenin is our final destination, but I hope we'll come across a 'mon who is skilled or knowledgeable enough to help you out. We're traveling so far, it's bound to happen sooner or later!”

Squirtle returned a sincere smile that became a yawn. The contagious yawn spread to Quil.

“Sleep now, figure out tomorrow's plan in the morning?” Squirtle proposed.

Quil nodded as he curled up against the wall next to Squirtle. “Fine by me. Good night, Squirtle.”

“Good night, Quil.” Squirtle took his customary position of lying down belly-first. As the unanswered questions began to swirl in his head, and he tried to relax, the inhospitable environment became more oppressive. With silence taking the place of conversation, the cold, hard stone disrupted Squirtle's ability to rest.

Without forethought, he allowed the muscles at his core to tighten. Along with his five limbs, his head retracted slowly into his shell. The increasingly familiar sensation was welcome, as he could now easily ignore the disturbing Prison setting along with the ground on which he slept. He inhabited a friendlier darkness now. From past experience, he knew he might be slightly achy in the morning, but at the moment he was certainly comfortable. The position felt, of course, quite natural.

I'm less sure than ever of what my life was like before I woke up in Root Forest. Makes sense that being a Squirtle is becoming easier. I can't imagine not having this tail, this shell. A few days ago I kept telling myself I wasn't a Squirtle, but it's hard to remember now why I fought that idea with such vigor.

Give it a few more days, and I doubt I'll be able to fall asleep outside of my shell. Am I losing myself, or accepting what I am?

* * *

The night was restful and dreamless. Squirtle had no method to tell the time when he awoke, but he estimated his sleep at eight or nine hours. True to the Charizard's word, no Pokémon had disturbed them. Waking up in his shell was mildly disorienting once again, but not for as long. As he released his limbs and head for a stretch, Quil roused himself too. With his eyes hidden behind wrinkled fur and his fires merrily burning while he slept, Squirtle found it difficult to tell if Quil was awake or not.

“Yesterday we did everything in Blindhollow that we had planned to do,” said Quil. “Today we just have to sneak out the same way we came in, and be on our way, right?”

“Ideally, yes. In practice, retracing yesterday's steps to slip out undetected may be tricky depending on the weather and time of day out there. I hope the sky is still dark and cloudy.”

“We could always spend the day hidden down here, wait for the middle of the night, and sneak out then,” Quil suggested half-heartedly.

“That would work,” Squirtle conceded, “but it would also be an excellent way to test our patience.”

“Honestly, I like this Prison, it feels comfortable to me. Even so, let's go now and not waste a whole day if that's fine by you. 'Now is the best time,' and all.”

“I agree. Can you extinguish your fire for a while so we're harder to spot?”

Quil took a few seconds of concentration to comply. “Let's battle today, so we can see the Totter Seed in action!” he commented as his fire receded. Squirtle made a hum of agreement, but chose to worry about life outside of Blindhollow once they'd successfully left it behind.

Quil picked up his Totter Seed, and they walked quietly along a pair of corridors that circumvented the Charizard's cell. Squirtle found that the Prison's unsettling atmosphere had lost much of its venom after they'd spent a perfectly safe night in its bowels. As they climbed the staircase, the light level increased, the scents of the air grew fresher, and the quiet receded. Squirtle poked his head over the lip to glimpse the second floor, and silently beckoned Quil to join him. The cell-lined corridor was empty.

At the heavy stone door once more, the pair pushed their weight against it steadily until it began to inch open. After a few seconds, the effort required to move the door suddenly doubled for Squirtle. He glanced at Quil and saw that he had stopped pushing. His snout was pointed at the gap they'd made to the outside. Squirtle took a look for himself and noticed that the floor outside glowed with reflected torchlight from within the Prison. The landing was submerged in rainwater that had not evaporated. Even as he watched, some water began to dribble inside.

One more look at Quil confirmed what Squirtle suspected: no way was Quil was going out that door. They pulled the door shut softly. Squirtle looked along the rest of the steps upwards to the top floor. From their view of the Prison's exterior while escaping from the rain the previous day, he knew that these stairs likely led to one of the extrusions above ground level they'd seen. Hopefully a door would be present upstairs.

Together, they trod almost silently up the steps. At the top, they emerged from a hole in the center of a small circular room. Vertical slits in the wall allowed some narrow views of Blindhollow. The layout reminded Squirtle of a castle's watchtower.

A few strangely shaped devices lay on wall shelves, along with plenty of rope, so Squirtle guessed the materials were used for restraining atypically-shaped inmates. Turning slowly to further examine the room, Squirtle spotted a door on their right: the avenue to Blindhollow and their escape. He turned around to point it out to Quil, but once he was looking behind them to see the rear of the room, he froze.

At the base of one wall lay three concentric metal rings, the largest having a diameter of about five feet. Oscillating gently above the rings, a Magnezone floated. It silently faced them where they stood next to the stairwell.

What do I say? Now it knows we were in the Prison, and it's certainly not a place visitors are welcome to explore freely. Squirtle racked his brain for an appropriate conversation starter, but drew a blank.

The Magnezone remained silent as it stared directly at Quil's head. Actually, it appeared to be looking slightly above, at the opposite wall. Quil was clearly off-put by the Pokémon's silence, as he took a step back closer to Squirtle. Still it did not react.

Wait a second. The two side eyes were closed, eclipsed by steely gray eyelids. Only the large, red, central eye remained open. Yet it did not move. It did not blink. It stared straight ahead and did not react to their presence.

The Magnezone was asleep.

Squirtle nudged Quil, pointed at the Magnezone, and made the 'asleep' gesture with his two hands and tilted head. Quil's own head tilted, a wordless question. That particular human gesture was not adopted by Pokémon apparently. Thankfully, Quil appeared to quickly understand for himself that the Magnezone was not conscious, as he inched closer and waved his snout back and forth. No reaction from the Magnezone.

Free to leave with no questions asked, they stole over to the door. Quil pushed it open as Squirtle fervently hoped it wouldn't squeak or trigger some kind of alarm. It swung outward silently. They slipped out and closed the door gently behind them.

Sunrays peeked around the jagged snowy mountaintops to the east. The dawn illuminated some of the western half of Blindhollow's crater, but had not yet directly lit up the eastern side: the side the Prison was on. Perfect. Their way out was clear, and they'd even be shaded by the mountains. The Prison was already on the edge of town, so they needed only to head up the slope to the grassy periphery that was their getaway.

“This is our chance. Let's move before it gets brighter and the town starts waking up,” said Squirtle with confidence. Quil looked less sure than him, but raised no objections.

The faster the better, here, thought Squirtle. He set a brisk jog away from the room they had exited toward the crater's rim. No other Pokémon were in view that Squirtle could see. He looked left, right, in windows, at the corners of buildings, but saw no movement. In seconds, they'd reached the halfway point. Nothing but the night's lingering shadow shielded them out in plain view. 

“You! Stop!” squawked a harsh voice from high above. As one, Quil and Squirtle halted and peered up at the lightening sky.

A Flying-type that Squirtle could not recognize caught the sun's first rays as it circled them about a hundred feet up. It had dusty and dirty brown plumage, but its neck and face were naked pink. A bone was stuck through the tuft on the back of its head like a hairpin, and it wore the toothy jaw of some Pokémon like a skirt.

After a couple of seconds of rapid decision-making, Squirtle said in a low voice to Quil, “Can you make that smoke cloud you mentioned earlier?”

“Smokescreen, got it.” The red patches on his back had already sizzled and reignited.

The Flyer above, a female, called down to them again. “I don't recognize you two, I don't. Leaving are you? Means you were already here. Means you sneaked in somehow, didn't meet with Raizula and pay the toll!”

Squirtle bit his tongue on his first, defiant reply. Then, politely: “We are on our way out, never to return. Please just leave us be.”

“Raizula makes the rules, she does, not this lowly Mandibuzz! Come, come! Or, we fight.” From the hungry tone of her voice, she considered the latter possibility a positive outcome.

“Ready, if you want to try to run,” murmured Quil.

“Do it.”

With a brief coughing fit, thick smoke the color of soot poured out of Quil's little mouth. Immediately, a nebulous shroud of the black smoke had enveloped the pair and began to diffuse outward. Undoubtedly, the Mandibuzz could not see them.

Squirtle himself succumbed to a few coughs, but the smoke did not irritate his eyes or anywhere else on his body. Whether the minimal harmful effects were due to his Type or the smoke's mild properties, Squirtle did not know, but it was working beautifully.

“Krah! Fight, we will fight! Can I still use that technique, I wonder?” Squirtle estimated she was gliding toward them since her voice grew louder.

“To Blindhollow's edge?” asked Quil quietly. He pushed his forelimb into Squirtle's hand for him to hold.

He gave the affirmative and allowed Quil to lead him onward. Without being able to rely on his vision, Squirtle felt more off balance than he would have imagined. They walked slowly and quietly in a direction that Squirtle hoped was up the slope. Whenever Quil pushed into thinner smoke that would have allowed the Mandibuzz to see them, he drew back and nosed into the thicker portions.

That is, until a sudden and fierce wind picked up. Squirtle's hold on Quil was broken as he was blasted off his feet and skidded across the ground. He could feel the thick particles of the smoke flowing over his skin and away with the wind.

“Keep in the smoke!” called Squirtle to Quil over the wind's dull roar. He dug the heel of one foot into the dirt as he skidded, and used that anchor to rise to his feet and run with the smoke.

The idea was of no use, as the wind was dispersing the smoke cloud as much as it was pushing it. Already Squirtle could see the Mandibuzz beating her wings rhythmically through the black haze, and Quil a few steps to his side. Thankfully, she had lacked the insight to blow the smoke closer into Blindhollow, and had instead pushed it slightly uphill. They were a bit closer!

As Squirtle rejoined Quil and they delved into what remained of the thick smoke, he saw the Mandibuzz vanish from the corner of his eye.

“I've fought some Flyers before in Steady Steppe,” Quil said as they crept along in the smoke. “I can tell from that wind that this Mandibuzz is tough! We can't fight her.”

“Understood. I hope we don't have to. Can you renew the smoke?”

Quil shook his head. “Takes a long time to work up smoke this dense in my body. Sorry.”

They made good progress for a few more seconds. Squirtle noticed some movement in the ever-thinning smoke off to his left. He peered close, and stifled a gasp to find that it was the Mandibuzz herself. She was standing facing the opposite direction, her head turning this way and that to find them in the smoke.

This smoke is about to clear up anyway, thought Squirtle. May as well get the jump on her now since we're bound to fight. This is a perfect chance; she's looking the wrong way.

He released his hold on Quil, and a moment later, fell softly to all fours right behind the Mandibuzz. With little mental effort required, he drew water from his Pool into his mouth and prepared to blast it right at the back of the Mandibuzz's unsuspecting head. His claws braced against the earth.

FWACK!

She spun with no warning to whip the bony part of one wing right between Squirtle's eyes. He was launched through the smoky air before striking the ground about thirty feet away. The Mandibuzz crowed a mischievous cry of satisfaction. Squirtle seethed with disappointment at himself, and anger at his sinister foe for reacting so quickly.

No, she must have been expecting it. No Pokémon can be that quick and that accurate. She drew me in, like a feint attack! She tricked me by appearing to be oblivious!

Think regretful thoughts was all he could do now, as that attack had taken the fight right out of him. With no actual advantage to employ, Squirtle knew he was too weak to help Quil. All he could do was cheer his friend on from the sidelines.

Quil was trying his Ember technique against the Mandibuzz. Apparently awkward when ground-bound, she lacked the evasiveness to escape the attack. She spread her wings and flapped hard to take off upward and to the side relative to Quil, but her legs, tailfeathers, and right wing were struck by the glowing embers. They hissed and burst into short-lived flames where they stuck to her. Squirtle could see an expression of irritation cross the Mandibuzz's gray beak.

The now-airborne Flyer screeched a raucous cry and performed a powerful full-bodied movement that imparted Squirtle with foreboding on Quil's behalf. After a midair pirouette along with a dual downstroke of the wings, she sent some aerial attack ripping toward Quil. Without the remainders of the smoke in the air, Squirtle doubted he would have been able to see it. What looked like a diagonal streak of air slashed through the smoke. The leading edge became black as it gathered smoke, and swirling smoke eddies followed in its wake.

Squirtle could see Quil's spiky fire quiver and his short fur become pressed flat as the attack struck. He rolled backward, ending sprawled. Squirtle knew by his body language that he would be too weak to continue fighting. The seed he'd been clutching close with one forelimb tumbled from his grasp. Squirtle allowed his head to droop to the ground. The battle was over.

“Kah, ha! Good fight, good fight,” the Mandibuzz remarked as she swooped in neatly for a landing between Squirtle and Quil. She plucked up the seed with her beak then held it close to her body with one wing. “Never underestimate a Shadow, you know now, Squirtle! Come, to Raizula we go, come.” She preened some of the feathers struck by Quil's ember as she watched the two begin to move.

Squirtle did not need to be told twice. She did not seem to be the type of Pokémon that would be reluctant to issue some encouraging blows. Nor did she seem particularly patient. Quil was being compliant too, so he had no choice anyway but to go along.

It was a shame they'd been forced to fight. Now, with their present states, not only could they not battle, but also not run away. Twenty minutes at least would be needed before Squirtle estimated he'd be up to a sprint, from his post-battling experience in the past. Beating around the bush and delaying the Mandibuzz for that long was an impossible task though, so meeting Raizula looked inevitable. He walked slowly up to the Mandibuzz, ready to be led. Quil joined him.

“Not far, even on foot. Middle of Blindhollow, she is. Take your seed, Cyndaquil, here. No good it would do me to eat; I know that seed. Come.” She let the seed fall to the dirt, then hopped and took flight. With lazy circles edging toward the center of the crater, she indicated the way. As if it weren't obvious to anyone with a sense of up and down.

“Should have pegged her right on her beak with this,” grumbled Quil as he tiredly picked up the Totter Seed and started downhill.

“I'm not sure we could have won even then. You were right. She was very tough.”

“I've never...I've never thought of what it would be like to be a prisoner until today, Squirtle. Have you?” He sounded more frightened than Squirtle had ever heard him.

“Hey,” Squirtle stepped closer and lent Quil a reassuring, if weary squeeze with one hand, taking care to avoid the fire. “We can't jump to conclusions. We can't be sure she'll lock us away underground. Maybe we can persuade her, or bargain somehow.” He tried to sound confident. Deeper down, his own fears were spawned by Quil's words.

How can we get out of this? We're helpless in this state, if we weren't already completely doomed against any Electric-type. We have almost nothing to offer, and no excuses for our behavior that she'll like.

How is Quil going to be able to continue his journey? How am I going to find my answers? This can't happen!


	16. Seed

The center of Blindhollow featured a beautiful watering hole. As it filled a bucket held in its jaws, an Eevee watched with cautious eyes as Squirtle, Quil, and the Mandibuzz approached. It soon turned tail and fled to the buildings that concentrically ringed the watering hole at the center of the town. Squirtle could tell its bucket was barely filled due to how the bucket bounced and shook as the Eevee retreated.

Just uphill to the watering hole, and overlooking all who came to and went from the water, there lay what Squirtle could only describe as a hoard of treasure. It was composed of fine bedding material, baskets of seeds and other edibles, decorative bowls, some filled with various kinds of food, bottles and jars of liquid, shiny rocks and minerals, sculptures of wood and clay, scrolls of fabric, some unrolled to reveal painted artwork or writings, tools, furniture, musical instruments, torches, candles, coils of rope, satchels, toys, balls, and more.

Beside the pile was a Persian, curled up the way Persian do. Its red slit pupils watched their approach, devoid of apprehension, as it toyed with something in its front paws. A Sandslash reclined against a drum that was as big as it was. Like Quil when Squirtle had first met him, the Sandslash's expression was unfathomable, even with visible eyes. Maybe it was hard to read because it was groggy from recently awakening for the day. 

Atop the pile, and slightly askew due to the disorganized and unstable jumble of items that formed its base, there was a large chair that faced the water. A throne. A Raichu had its rear planted in it, and its feet bobbing merrily in the air.

Raizula.

Her attention was not focused on the newcomers, but on a hand mirror she held by her face. She sighed contentedly as she gazed into it.

The Mandibuzz perched herself on a larger rolled up scroll sitting upright in the pile. Squirtle could see what looked like blocky text on the portion of paper that trailed out of the roll, but it was too far for him to have a chance of reading it. He and Quil had stopped their approach a cautious distance from the Pokémon of the pile.

“Mistress Raizula, being sentry during my allotted time, circling I was. Found these two leaving, but never have we seen them, yes? Never came in, didn't pay your toll.”

Raizula continued to be fixated by her mirror for a moment. She brought her tail's lightning bolt shaped tip close to her face to delicately smooth a patch of fur with its edge. The mirror was lowered to the armrest. Her lips formed a thin smile as she regarded Quil and Squirtle.

“You did, did you? You're hilarious. Blindhollow's mine, you can't just wander in and out like it's just another acre of Blind Prairie.” She had a sharp, snarky voice that was ever so slightly nasally. Raizula leaned forward, coming to her feet in front of her throne. “I guess I can't blame you for what you tried to do. But, you failed.” She chortled with delight that seemed authentic.

“Do you like my mirror?” She picked it up and waved its shiny surface at the pair before putting it back down. “It was a gift from a Sentret who's lived in this place all her life. Such a lovely mirror, isn't it?” She sighed.

“Now you two are going to give me a gift. Rules are rules. All travelers must offer me a truly fabulous gift if they wish to come in to the wonderful tourist town of Blindhollow and see the sights there are to see. So what will it be? What do you have to offer me?”

Squirtle lowered his eyes, suddenly unwilling to meet the Raizula's commanding gaze. He hated the situation. After days of hiking in the open air with no laws to follow but those of nature, being commanded by this Pokémon was humiliating. Beyond that emotion though, he recognized a simmering anger in his chest. This wasn't right. No one should have to live beneath a selfish tyrant like this. No one.

He glanced around the watering hole and treasure hoard. The Sandslash with its unreadable expression watched them. The Persian had stopped toying with whatever was in its paws, and watched them with amusement dancing in its eyes. Squirtle could also see a couple of faces observing them, further away from the central clearing. A Slakoth standing at a window. The Eevee with its bucket, lying prone in the shadows of the dawn. It retreated out of sight when it noticed Squirtle's look. A Furret in a road farther uphill, watching the confrontation unfold.

Squirtle recognized the expressions that watched the proceedings. They were the same expressions on the Pokémon in the crowd at Karprest when Stolt the Luxio first defied Mayor Biba and tested his new power on Quil. The Pokémon wore those expressions, too, while he was being led out of Karprest by the Nidorino. Their town had been turned upside-down, and they didn't know what to do, how to make Karprest safe and happy again. They'd worn expressions of fear, uncertainty, hopelessness.

Quil stepped forth. He placed the Totter Seed given to them by Wartortle on the ground before Raizula and her cohort. Squirtle could see him tremble, though the shaking motion was small. He found himself fervently hoping that Raizula could not see Quil's trembling for some reason. Quil backpedaled to return to Squirtle's side.

Squirtle shared the fear that Quil exhibited in his trembling. The Cyndaquil wasn't the only one who had been traumatized to some degree by Stolt's coup and Electric attack. The images came back to Squirtle, and he knew he should say something to appease Raizula, put her in a good mood. Quil didn't look like he was going to open his mouth. The more flattery and satisfaction Squirtle gave to Raizula, the better their chances of getting out safe and sound. Humiliation or not.

“Our gift to you, Raizula. A fresh Totter Seed...obtained on our travels throughout the land. Blindhollow is a marvelous place, but with your blessing, we would like to continue on our way.” Hopefully he wasn't pushing his luck too far.

“Another seed?” said Raizula. “At least it isn't from that Seed Nursery, that would have been such an easy gift. Fine, it'll do. Keer, darling, bring it to me won't you?”

“Of course, Mistress Raizula,” replied the Mandibuzz from atop her scroll.

She hopped off her perch to bring the Totter Seed to the base of the treasure hoard. She extended her neck with the seed in her beak up to Raizula, who plucked it out and inspected the colorful little seed.

“Hm. The shape is nice, though the colors are too offensive for my taste. The orange is pretty, when the light catches it though. Yes, pretty. It'll do.” She tossed the seed down to Keer the Mandibuzz, who placed it in one of the baskets filled with seeds.

It sickened Squirtle that the special gift Wartortle had personally given them was now in a pile with so many others. Most of those seeds probably had similar personal value to other 'mon who'd fallen victim to Raizula's 'toll'. The loss he felt was no doubt less painful than what Quil was feeling. His friend appeared to have a passion for plants or gardening, and sounded like he treasured his time during Wartortle's tour. The sick feeling mixed with his anger.

“What you're doing is wrong!” Quil cried in a choked voice. “How can you stand to treat your fellow Pokémon like this? Especially when you live together every day?!”

Well then. There goes our chance of getting on Raizula's good side, Squirtle thought sardonically, even though he fully agreed with Quil.

Quil hadn't been shaking from fear, it seemed. The trembles were of restrained emotion, especially anger.

The Persian rose to its feet, but its posture bespoke a dutiful readiness rather than any personal offense. The Sandslash slowly glanced up at Raizula, perhaps to gauge her reaction.

“What's that?” said Raizula. “I can't hear your little voice, Cyndaquil. Speak up won't you?”

Squirtle placed his hand on Quil's side for support. He guessed Quil did not like raising his voice. Squirtle did not look forward to Quil repeating his objections even louder, but the damage was done. Raizula would find out what he had said one way or another.

Quil repeated himself in a louder voice that Squirtle had rarely heard.

Raizula smiled for a moment, then chortled gleefully. “You're hilarious! But, little Cyndee-quill, you're wrong. I don't live with the 'mon of Blindhollow; I'm above them, on a separate level if you will. And it was only recently that I came here to stay on any permanent basis.”

She gestured with her sinuous tail at the sector of wilderness to the right of the rising sun. “I used to live over that way. Sure, I popped into Blindhollow every now and then. The company, the travelers who have ranged across the land, the news they bring, the buildings 'mon have constructed – it's all quite fun as a diversion. The Prairie is my true home though. Oh, I do miss it, the wild. That thrill of living purely by your own skill and strength, and oh, never knowing what the day will offer you. The excitement simply cannot be matched, I tell you.”

“Why stay here?” asked Squirtle.

“Many reasons, really, dear Squirtle. I didn't have a family in the wild, so there's nothing to draw me back except the lifestyle. But it can't satisfy me anymore. How tragic! There would be no challenge.” She looked sidelong at Squirtle and Quil, smiling. “You do know what I can do, don't you?”

Without waiting for an answer, her yellow cheeks began to spark and sputter. She stood tall, as did her ears, while her tail moved to take a 'J' shape with the tip pointed vertically behind and above her ear tips. She raised her arms and her smile became a frown of concentration.

The electrical hum that Squirtle remembered so well from Stolt and the Elekid filled the air. With the sound came fragments of a nightmare he'd forgotten. That sound had preceded the worst experience of his short life, an experience that could send chills of fear down his spine by merely recalling it to mind.

Squirtle knew he could not outrun Raizula's Electric attack, especially not when it was already prepared. “Please!” he shouted up to her desperately. “Don't shock us! We know what you can do, we know we know we know! No shock, please!”

Raizula executed her technique. Squirtle's head twitched to follow the bolt as it sought its target almost faster than his eyes could follow it. The bolt was bright yellow, with a white core, and shot from Raizula's cheeks to the middle of the large watering hole. As it struck the water with a flash, an immense explosion of water resulted, along with the crackling echo of electricity. Yellow arcs of electricity danced on the entire surface of the water, and vanished as the hundreds of water droplets from the explosion spattered the surface with ripples.

Squirtle's hand was on the front of his shell, feeling his chest rise and fall rapidly. He'd truly thought he was about to be zapped into oblivion. Beside him, Quil uncurled and slowly rose to present himself to Raizula again. The Persian, Squirtle noticed, did not look comfortable, but neither did it look surprised. Perhaps Raizula performed this display often.

“Besides, I have a wonderful set-up here,” Raizula continued once the boom had faded, as if nothing had happened. “Look at the wonders in front of our eyes! I find it fitting that they all belong to me, as I am one of a kind. This mirror is just one of so many gifts. And I do love gifts,” she finished with a smirk.

In the pause that followed, Squirtle guessed that she was expecting a response from them.

“Yes, they're very wonderful gifts. I know that I am...pleased to add ours to your collection. With that settled, may we continue our journey?”

“Eh, you are travelers aren't you? Hm. Yes, fine, go on, get out of here. Have a sweet day won't you?”

Yes! We're free to go! I almost can't believe it. Should I bow? No, that gesture would mean nothing. And I physically can't bow.

He nodded, and turned to leave with Quil. They'd walked three steps when the Mandibuzz spoke up officiously.

“Mistress Raizula, two gifts, do you not ask two gifts? One, for entry into Blindhollow and seeing its sights, or to keep living here. And the second, for departure?”

Squirtle froze. They could run for it, right now. This would be their best chance. He considered the idea. Glancing at Quil revealed that he was probably thinking the same thing.

“Oh, yes, I forgot that I made that rule. Thank you Keer. But you know, I'm feeling generous today. Those two were great conversation, and I appreciate that. They can go. It's only just past sunrise after all. Go on, you two.”

Squirtle breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Together they walked away from Raizula, away from her cohort, away from the pile of gifts, the watering hole, the clearing. No one followed them, no one tried to stop them. Their observers had made themselves scarce. This time, they were free.

As they passed one ring of buildings, a voice spoke to them from a window. “Consider yourselves lucky. She's not usually lax about her toll.”

Squirtle whirled to face the voice, but caught only a glimpse of movement as the Pokémon concealed himself behind the walls. Squirtle did not wish to jinx their smooth departure, so he said nothing to the voice. They continued to ascend the slope of the shallow crater's western side. He did not consider himself superstitious by any means, but saying the wrong thing while still amid the town's buildings and denizens could reverse their fortune. Quil likewise said nothing.

At the top of the slope, welcoming them, was the break in the western grass curtain. The road by which they'd come to Blindhollow. Side by side, Squirtle and Quil reached the edge of Blindhollow's depression, and left the town behind them.

Squirtle wondered about the Pokémon who had spoke to them. His voice had not quite sounded bitter, but closer to forlorn. The voice of a resigned fate.

* * *

Thin wisps and half-eaten puffballs of cloud were strewn across the sky, the shredded remnants of the rainstorm from the previous evening. The cloud cover was thicker in the eastern and southern skies, and a fair breeze tousled the tall grasses in the same direction. They smelled particularly pungent today, and Squirtle fancied they moved in a more lively fashion than the previous days. He knew it was simply the knowledge that it had rained that was playing tricks on his perception.

The grass, as always, blocked view of the lands ahead, but when the path was perfectly straight for long stretches, Squirtle could glimpse the topography in the far distance. The view matched what he'd seen stepping off the ferry: verdant foothills mixed with brown, similar to the ones Quil and he had descended to reach Karprest, and beyond those, a transition to the gray and black of the mountainous peaks. The tallest ones were capped with pure white snow that shone beautifully in the morning light.

Still, a respectable stretch of Blind Prairie's grasses stood in the way of the first foothills. After all, they'd have to retrace their steps to where they'd encountered Hayzin's group before even stepping foot on new ground. Yet Squirtle smiled. Long days of hiking were infinitely better than being locked up in a prison cell, or worse.

After they found a bite to eat, Quil spoke up. “Raizula said she lived almost completely in the wild until she got her Electric boost. That means it wasn't just Pokémon living in settlements that were affected, and it means that the boost affected 'mon at least as far as Blind Prairie. Am I right so far?”

“Yes, that's right. We still don't know if the boost hit Pokémon with the Electric Type, or if the Electric techniques themselves received a supercharge.”

Quil chuckled. “Supercharge, I like that. Considering that the Zappers we've met have not seemed unnaturally strong except for their Electric moves, I would guess that it's the electricity itself that was supercharged.”

The path turned slightly, and Squirtle scooted around a familiar rock. “You think then that Electric techniques themselves were the only things affected by the boost?”

“That's just what the clues say in my head. Could also be electricity itself that was supercharged, couldn't it? Next time there's a thunderstorm, we had better stay well away from lightning strikes,” he said seriously.

The image of the Sandslash rose into Squirtle's mind. “We also still aren't sure how Ground typing interacts with electricity.”

“Oh, right! What was that Sandslash doing at Raizula's side? If it could walk away and ignore any Electric attack made against it, why was it still working with Raizula?”

“Well, 'If you can't beat them, join them,' right?” said Squirtle matter-of-factly.

Quil seemed to glance at him. “Huh?”

Squirtle laughed at the Cyndaquil's reaction. He didn't have to worry about not sounding like a Pokémon anymore. “It means that if you're in a hopeless situation, sometimes the best course of action is to join up with whatever's oppressing you, instead of continuing to fight it. In this case, if I were the Sandslash, and I knew that Raizula had Blindhollow under her finger, I wouldn't resist the inevitable. I may as well join up with her and benefit than try to stop her.”

Quil was indignant. “I can't believe a 'mon would do that! If I were a Grounder and I had no reason to fear Zappers, there's no way I would submit like that!”

“I could be wrong,” Squirtle amended hastily. “We don't have enough information. Maybe Raizula has threatened other Pokémon, like that Persian, into keeping the Sandslash close by so she could keep an eye on it. If I were a selfish tyrant, I'd be keeping my greatest threats close, not lurking in the town or inciting a revolution. Or maybe the Sandslash isn't immune to electricity anymore, or hasn't yet tested whether it is or not, and that's why Raizula has control over it.”

“Yeah, those all sound possible. We don't know enough! Remember that Taillow that was perched on the Rapidash's head, next to Hayzin the Zebstrika? She said that Cavetown is known for its Grounder population. I hope we can find answers there.”

Squirtle nodded. “Sounds good. It'll be a nice change to make it to a safe, stable settlement of Pokémon. There's no way a place full of Ground-types will have any issues from the Electric boost.”

Quil replied to Squirtle's unspoken 'Right?' with cautious optimism. “Hopefully. I wish Planters had gotten the boost instead of Zappers, then I'd maybe have a better chance against them. Er, no offense to your Type, Squirtle.”

“None taken. I was thinking yesterday that I wish I'd been transformed into a Dugtrio so I'd have Ground typing.” Was that really only yesterday?

“Speaking of Type,” Squirtle continued tentatively, as he knew this would be a sensitive subject. “Would you say you have a fear of water?”

“Erm. Sometimes.” Quil paused. “Fine, I do, yes,” he admitted. “I said I'd try to be straightforward with you, since you were with me down in the Prison. But I'm a Flame, I naturally hate water! I can't help it, sorry. Again, no offense, Squirtle.”

A small smile. “I realize everyone has fears, and I'm certainly no exception. Your fear of water wouldn't bother me, except that the fear has gotten us into some tight spots. You know, the delay at the pier, taking cover from the rain in the Prison, finding another way out because of the puddle. Is there a way we can work on it?”

Quil seemed to stare at him, and Squirtle realized it had sounded like he was suggesting using his Water-type abilities on Quil or something similarly horrifying. Hurriedly, he redressed his meaning.

“No, I don't mean spraying you with water or anything like that! Maybe I could make some puddles of my own for you to step through while we talk, to start?” There was a psychology term for this type of treatment, and it came surprisingly easily to mind: systematic desensitization.

Quil took a few seconds to respond. “I see why you're making the suggestion, Squirtle. I...guess we can work on my problem with water. But don't you think we have much bigger issues to deal with?”

Squirtle wondered if Quil was genuinely more concerned with the other problems facing them, or if he was unwilling to face his fears. He hoped for the former.

“For example,” Quil continued, “as it stands I don't think we can make a speck of difference in this whole Electric fiasco. We have zero advantages, and we're just two unevolved 'mon. We've only won a single battle together, against that Zigzagoon.”

Squirtle cringed with embarrassment as he recalled his reaction to Raizula preparing her Electric technique. He'd screamed, pleaded with her to stop. He had been reduced to nothing before her. And here he was complaining about Quil disliking water.

“By the way,” Squirtle said, “I apologize for my actions when I thought Raizula was going to shock us. The, uh, pleading and screaming.”

“Oh Squirtle, don't apologize, I was terrified too. You can't blame yourself. I think any Pokémon who went through what we did at Karprest would be afraid of facing a Zapper too.”

Squirtle appreciated Quil's words, though he heard the uncertainty behind them. Quil knew they weren't as brave or steadfast as other Pokémon. Suddenly, Squirtle hated that fact. The spark of righteous anger ignited and burned away his embarrassment. Sure, he may have been someone who avoided conflict in his previous life, and yes, he was only a weak Squirtle trying to find his way. That didn't mean he was entitled to behave in a cowardly fashion. Just like when he'd lost thoroughly to the Espeon, he felt once more the injustice of being powerless to find his answers. In this case, he was powerless to set things right.

“You're correct about what you were saying though Quil. There isn't anything we can do. Yet. We have no advantages, so we're going to have to create them.” He made a little fist out of the three fingers on his right hand, and punched them into his open left. “Our focus needs to be training ourselves to be faster, fiercer, tougher, and above all, more confident in battle. I'm tired of being outclassed. Aren't you?”

Quil sounded surprised by Squirtle's sudden transformation. “Uh, sure I am, Squirtle. Not as much as you, I think, but losing repeatedly does get annoying. Except, how exactly will becoming better at battling help us against this?” He mimed Raizula's pose when she had prepared and fired her impressive Electric attack.

“You said it yourself Quil: Pokémon like Stolt and Raizula aren't themselves unnaturally strong, only their Electric techniques. If we get stronger, we'll be more practiced at dodging attacks, and retaliating in kind.”

Squirtle's speech faltered, but only slightly. “And sure, maybe that won't be enough. Maybe we'll need to find other Pokémon to help us who feel the same way. Or maybe we'll have to fix the situation in each town by talking to the Pokémon there instead of battling. But to do any of that, we need confidence above all, and it wouldn't help to have some authority. Some reputability. We need to show other Pokémon that we are experienced travelers that know what they're talking about, not a little Squirtle and Cyndaquil losing every battle and barely making it to their destination. Does that make sense?”

Quil was quiet, and Squirtle knew he was thinking it over. Always appreciative of a thought-out response, Squirtle focused on the path ahead. His thoughts turned back, however, to what he'd said.

I sound like a revolutionary. Do I really believe that Quil and I should...inspire some kind of uprising? Become leaders? A few days ago, I would not have considered Quil more than a traveling companion. We had a mutually beneficial relationship. Now he's my friend. I suppose I've become more sensitive to the welfare of the other Pokémon in these lands as well. This Electric boost business is twisted and wrong; even I know that. If I'm something unique like Quil says I am, then I should do what I can. Even if I'm only a Squirtle, and one ignorant of Pokémon culture.

Quil replied at last. “This, right now, is a pivotal moment for us. If we set ourselves this goal of helping the Pokémon in towns like Blindhollow, our priorities will completely change. I've thought about my answer, but we need to both be sure. Are you positive you want to do this Squirtle?”

Squirtle was taken aback by Quil's solemnity. He respected his friend's serious response by actually thinking over his decision once again. The conclusion he reached once more was undeniable. Whether a Pokémon or a human, he would not be able to live with himself if he did not help in any way he could.

“Some things are more important than the individual. In my mind, whatever is going on with the Electric type is one of those things. Your journey to that volcano to evolve into a Quilava and my hunger to unlock my past can both be delayed, if you don't mind me saying so. On the other hand, the oppression, imbalance, and suffering that are occurring can't be dealt with later. This is bigger than us.”

He stopped walking to face Quil, lending emphasis to his next words. “To answer your question: I'm sure. Let's do what we can, Quil.”

The Cyndaquil nodded and cracked a smile. “Let's!”

“I'm glad we agree on this,” Quil continued as they walked, “although I meant what I said earlier. Can we even do much at this point? I'm sure working on our battling will help, like you were saying. Those other ideas though – joining up with other 'mon who feel similarly to us, or solving the problem with words – I don't know how those will turn out. I'm no good at inspiring 'mon, and I've never played at a leadership role. I'm afraid if our plans come to that, you'll have to attack first.”

Attack first? Oh, it's another turn of phrase. Here I am suggesting that battling might not be the solution, but I stumble through casual Pokémon conversation. That's auspicious.

“We'll see what happens, and I'll do my best Quil. For now I think continuing on to Cavetown as planned is a smart idea. We can train against the wild Pokémon living in the Prairie, and bolster our intel by learning what the situation is in Cavetown. Besides,” he added regretfully, “I doubt we can depose Raizula as we are now. Or Stolt.”

Quil sighed through his nostrils. “I agree with you, though I wish there was an easier way to work toward our goal. I do have to say, battling side-by-side with a partner makes the experience much more interesting! Sometimes it's even fun,” he laughed.

“Partner,” Squirtle repeated. “Hm, there's a nice ring to that. Now then, what was that phrase you used earlier? Right. 'Now is the best time.'”

Quil groaned in mock torment.

* * *

Their first morning foray off the path passed by peacefully for some minutes. Even when Squirtle and Quil bumped into a small herd of grazing Tauros, none of the placid Pokémon looked inclined to battle. A couple of the Tauros wrestled with each other, horns locked, each apparently trying to overturn the other in a contest of strength. The rest eyed the newcomers but continued to munch.

Squirtle tried to reconcile the harmonious situation in which he'd found himself with the immediately hostile wild Pokémon he'd hitherto encountered. Why were these Tauros not riled up and ready to battle? Was it their confidence in the herd to overwhelm two opponents? Did the instincts of these Pokémon compel them to ignore instead of repel aggressors? Squirtle fell back on what Quil had once said: starting a battle with wild Pokémon was never cruel or selfish. Regardless of what the Tauros thought, Squirtle would not be rude or frowned upon for picking a fight.

Quil gravitated toward the individual most separated from the core of the herd, and Squirtle backed him up. For whatever reason, the rest of the herd did not interfere with the battle. After being gored twice each, and being trampled by their increasingly angry opponent, they retreated back to the path. Squirtle had managed to practice his Water Gun, Quil his Ember, and both of them their Tackle. In fact, Squirtle had suggested they try a simultaneous Tackle to knock the Tauros off his sturdy legs, but the twin blow to the Tauros' flank was still not enough.

Following half an hour of calming and restorative hiking, both were ready to try again. This time, they ran into a furry gray and white Pokémon that was shorter than both of them. The Pokémon was using its fluffy tail to clean off some food item when they encountered it. 'Minccino,' Quil called it afterward. With startling gumption for such a small and subjectively cute creature, the Minccino wasted no time in lunging at Squirtle and spinning to deliver whip-like slaps with its tail.

Squirtle had planned for an opportunity like that, and countered by withdrawing into his shell like Wartortle had taught. The swift response by the Minccino meant that Squirtle did not have enough time to properly brace within his shell, but he could still tell that the tail slaps' effect was reduced. As anticipated, the Minccino switched targets. Squirtle could not see from within his shell, but remarkably, Quil began to chuckle and then openly laugh. Squirtle emerged once he was sure the Minccino was focused on Quil, and saw that his friend was being tickled. The Minccino grinned as it lightly brushed Quil's belly and the underside of his snout with its tailtip.

Squirtle was thrown out of his fighting mindset. Was this a valid move in a battle, or was this Pokémon not taking the battle seriously? Maybe by using laughter, one could break down the ability of one's opponent to defend itself or deliver forceful moves. Quil's helplessly joyous expression did not seem like it belonged on a Pokémon ready to battle, so Squirtle supposed the tickling technique was a legitimate move.

Squirtle Tackled the little bundle of fluff, but when it rose again, it continued to prey upon Quil. This time, its expression transformed into one of pitiable cuteness. Its large brown eyes practically shone with vulnerability and hurt. Even its posture became unsure and harmless. Squirtle continued his assault, and fortunately Quil joined him, but Squirtle could tell that his companion's Tackle lacked its usual spirit.

Psychological warfare. Squirtle had to try it sometime. He recalled the time his tail had unconsciously waved in the air behind him when he'd faced the Zigzagoon, and supposed that that qualified. Thinking of the bigger picture though, wouldn't distracting or otherwise reducing his foe's fighting capability be a waste of time compared to using offensive attacks that directly weakened his foe? He lacked the data from a thousand battles to determine which style of battling was superior.

Squirtle predicted they'd be victorious in this battle, given their opponent's often indirect fighting style. Just as he became almost certain of the outcome, Quil went down unexpectedly easily from a series of tail slaps. Squirtle performed his Withdraw technique to withstand the coming offensive, becoming little more than a compact and immobile lump in the grass. He picked up the trick of bracing with extra vigor in conjunction with an impending blow, almost like a parry.

Even so, with no retaliation on his part, the repeated onslaught by the fluffy terror took its toll on Squirtle. Being knocked about sapped his energy, and he emerged from his shell defeated. Just in time for a parting slap in the face. The Minccino chittered in delight. Squirtle found the sound disgusting, though he knew in other circumstances he would find the sound cute and cuddly.

“Nice try,” it laughed as it pushed them in the direction whence they'd come. Weakened past the point of being able to fight, Squirtle and Quil plodded toward the path like children caught awake past bedtime.

Their training continued in that vein. Squirtle learned various intricacies of Pokémon battling that he had either never known, or were sealed away in the abyssal depths of his mind. Of certain Pokémon, judging by their appearance or the moves they used, he grew to expect corresponding qualities. Resistant to his Tackle, or resistant to his Water Gun. Quick and always able to land the first hit, or slower than him and reactionary in a battle. A fierce offensive capability with little protection, or a hearty vitality that mandated a constant slew of attacks to whittle down. In addition, he grew familiar with common techniques, and began to understand what to expect from Pokémon of a particular Type. A novice's understanding.

He grew more sure of when to use each of the few moves he knew, and the best way to execute them. Much of his learning he knew was subconscious or muscle memory, but he made it a habit to analyze each battle during the following rest period. Incorporating the resulting insight into the next battle was challenging, since thinking in the heat of battle was difficult for a variety of reasons. Still, he could tell that improvement was occurring.

Squirtle could not speak for Quil, but he could see that his reluctance to utilize his Fire techniques had all but evaporated. Witnessing his Ember's effectiveness on the Scizor the other day looked to be the turning point in Quil's opinion of his own strength. In addition to overcoming that irrational belief, Squirtle noticed marked improvements in Quil's battling. Each Tackle came harder and faster, and every Ember flurry shone brighter than the last.

Finally, Squirtle continued to formulate tactics for the pair. He recommended that Quil establish a Smokescreen against opponents that liked to close the distance and use hard-hitting physical moves. He tried to set up positioning by which they could employ the arcing-Ember-jump-reposition-Water-Gun strategy. Quil fondly called it 'Ember Arc'. Squirtle experimented with jumping or running while spewing out his water stream, but he lacked as of yet the finesse to keep it steady and actually useful while moving. He imagined Quil would face an identical problem with his Ember.

Progress in terms of distance covered was slow. Time-consuming battles coupled with a sluggish pace once back on the path meant that reaching Cavetown would take far longer than on a normal hike. Squirtle was comfortable with that fact though, since covering ground for Quil's journey was no longer the priority. And, as Squirtle had implied to Quil days ago, becoming tougher fighters might well be necessary for reaching the volcano. This training was by no perspective worthless.

A little past noon, they reached the fork in the road at which they'd met Hayzin and the rest from Blindhollow. They kept right at the fork and continued into new territory. By that point Squirtle wished for a change of scenery: a different grass species, a new dirt consistency, something. His hopes fell short as the scenery on the path remained stubbornly identical to the last few hours. Quil by contrast seemed right at home. No coincidence there since Quil lived in a place like this. At least the clouds' shapes were moderately interesting, though the skies were gradually clearing up. The pair spent much of their hike pointing out shapes in the clouds, or guessing what the other thought a cloud looked like.

Squirtle took to jumping as high as he could into the air every now and then. Previously, jumping to gain a view did not occur to him. After all, the grasses grew far above his head, blocking view of the surroundings. His restless need to see something new got him thinking, and he quickly recalled how high he'd jumped to reach that roof in Karprest.

The first time, he was once again very impressed at his vertical, so much so that he gasped in surprised pleasure. He could leap at least eight feet high! As a Pokémon not even two feet tall, his vertical leap was truly astonishing. Quil was most amused by his amazement. He commented that he would not enjoy being a human if they couldn't jump, implying that anything less than Squirtle's massive leaps could not even be considered a jump. Squirtle's own amusement grew.

From his very brief vantage points, the portion of Blind Prairie between their location on the path and the foothills and mountains ahead stretched out before his eyes. A full day's travel more would take them out of the grassland, Squirtle estimated. Up until then though, the scenery would be maddeningly uniform. On the bright side, the sameness elicited a greater desire for the excitement and unpredictability of battle. Even Quil seemed affected. Though it could be the noticeable advancement they'd been making in fighting skills, too.

For Squirtle at least, the seductive allure of becoming a powerful force to be reckoned with was hard to resist in an environment with no distractions and his unbreakable Pokémon constitution. When he examined his desire, the warnings of Chando the tormented Charizard were brought to mind. He felt they didn't quite apply to his circumstances and intent though. He had a purpose in mind that was not selfish or mindless. He was a measly Squirtle in any case, not a mighty final-evolution that could fly and breathe fire.

The sun was getting toward its time of setting. The acoustic ambiance of the Prairie began to shift as some species of Pokémon called it a day, and different ones became active. Squirtle had begun to grow accustomed to this subtle and gradual cue as an indicator of dusk, in lieu of watching the sun reach the western horizon. The pair's resting period between battles had grown closer to an hour. The day was the most physically draining to Squirtle so far, which he counted as a positive, not a negative. One more battle would do it for the day.

“Solid Ember Arc on that Linoone,” said Squirtle. “The only problem was that I was positioned too far away from it to accurately land my water immediately. I'll get closer next time when I see you inhaling.”

“Good idea. I should start thinking about my effective ranges as well. Ready to head in once more?” Quil suggested.

“Why go looking for a fight when you've got one right here?” said an unknown voice from farther down the path. Squirtle had not been looking ahead since he was talking to Quil, but now there stood the quadrupedal green-furred Pokémon with yellow accents known as Electrike.

The Pokémon was barely taller than Squirtle, but in his eyes, it was monstrous. The cocky smirk it wore was a badge of its status. The Electrike was an Electric-type; no further knowledge about the Pokémon was needed. Squirtle and Quil were going to be destroyed if they fought it. And if its fearless approach was an indicator, it was not going to take 'No' for an answer.


	17. Resistance

On the grassy path en route to Cavetown, Squirtle and Quil pulled up short in the face of an approaching Electrike. His expression was like a frosty wind, his stride like a weighty boulder set in motion.

Squirtle's fantasy that all traveling Pokémon would interact peacefully on the road was crushed like the short grass under the Electrike's paws. Or maybe the Electric-type was not a traveler, but a wild living within the nearby grasses. Why then was he walking the path, talking to and picking fights with travelers?

Squirtle's heart sank as he considered their options. I don't understand where this Electrike is coming from or why he's doing this, but Blind Prairie offers us nowhere to run. No doubt the Electrike's faster than us, since it has four dedicated legs and may call these grasses home. We're doomed to put up a hopeless fight.

Quil uncurled from the defensive position he consistently took when startled, and hunkered down into a battle-ready crouch similar to Squirtle's.

The Electrike's cold smirk widened. He stopped his advance at fifteen feet, threw back his head, and howled a battle-cry to the heavens. His vocalization appeared to have no effect other than to psych himself up to fight.

“We'll harass him up close!” Squirtle said urgently to Quil. “Otherwise we'll be picked off by Electric techniques in no time!”

Quil nodded and they raced toward the Electrike on either side of the broad path: a practiced approach that allowed the possibility of flanking the enemy once they arrived. Squirtle used his arms as another set of legs so that he could match Quil's speed. He blanked his mind with practiced ease, like a seasoned warlord raising his arms for silence over the clamor of his unruly soldiers.

Squirtle reached the Electrike first, and slammed his weight against their foe's jade and gold head crest. The hit was solid, but the Electrike used the blow to spin away from Quil's attempted Tackle less than a second later. The hapless Cyndaquil came to a stop fifteen feet farther along the path. His mouth opened and his small chest began to inflate with a great breath.

Squirtle, with a mental nod of agreement, prepared to Tackle the Electrike as quickly as he could. His intention was not to maximize damage, but to distract their foe so that Quil could land an accurate and powerful Ember. If Squirtle was locked in close-quarters and struck by a portion of the fires, his Water typing would protect him from the worst of the heat.

The Electrike had already been preparing his next move since dodging Quil. The dreaded electrical humming emanated from his body. Squirtle, from his position so close to the Electrike, felt the air itself become tense. His plan of attack was momentarily scrambled as a wave of fear swept his being. An Electric technique was coming.

By the time Squirtle remembered to initiate his distraction, there was no longer any need. The Electrike faced Quil and opened his mouth. Squirtle could see muffled flashes of light in his throat, like lightning bolts being generated in the gray depths of a thunderstorm. Short-lived sparks popped out of his mouth as he howled once more. This time the sound was a bellow closer to a thunderclap than a cry any Pokémon could produce.

With the deafening blast of thunder came a visible distortion in the air that surged toward Quil. In a split second, the wave of sound and force had reached Quil and pushed onward relentlessly. Dust along the path was flurried into the air. The tall grasses lining the path were momentarily pressed nearly flat against the ground as the cone-shaped attack burst out of the Electrike's maw. A thunderous echo lingered in the air for several seconds.

“Quil!” shouted Squirtle. His own voice sounded wrong, and he knew he was at least partially deafened. All thoughts of an offensive were forgotten as he ran to his friend's side.

What had the attack done? Quil lay where the attack had met him, with his forelimbs pressed against his temples. He was shaking like a leaf, but made no motion other than the trembling.

Squirtle pushed his fingers into Quil's short furry coat, trying to gently shake him but ending up frantically jerking him about instead. “Are you okay!?”

“P-p-para...l-l-lyzed,” Quil sputtered as he shook.

There was nothing Squirtle could do but wait for it to wear off. He turned his head and glowered at the Electrike over the back of his shell.

The Electrike had wasted no time in readying his next attack. Arrogant he might be, but he was allowing his opponents no respite. No mercy was forthcoming. The Electrike crouched slightly as the electric hum arose once again. Tiny arcs of electricity jumped between tufts on a fur coat that was now agitated and upright. Another, different Electric technique. Yet Squirtle had seen the move before.

The Luxio roaring and dashing forward. Pouncing at him and Quil. Squirtle stumbling to the side to get away. The yellow flash filling the area and the blast of electrical noise reverberating in the air. Quil being launched away. Slamming against the wall of some Pokémon's house an Onyx's length away.

No, thought Squirtle. Not again. Please. Once was enough. Don't do this to us again.

He was backpedaling now, keeping his wide eyes trained on the Electrike. The attack was coming, that was certain. Any window of opportunity to stop it had passed in the time it took to check on Quil. So it was time to run. Except the Electrike would easily chase him down; he'd already established that. He was doomed. Absolutely doomed.

No, the Electrike's eyes were fixed on Quil, not Squirtle. Quil was his target. Whether the Electrike knew it or not, his attack sequence made perfect sense: paralyze the greater threat, then knock it out with strong offensive techniques. Squirtle was the lesser threat since he was weak to electricity.

The Electrike wore an icy smirk of anticipation on his face as the hum built. How many times had he done this to other Pokémon? How many times had he used his unnatural power to abuse those he'd sought out to fight?

Squirtle stopped his retreat as Quil's paralyzed form came into his lower field of vision. Quil had no ability to dodge the attack, or even defend himself in any way. The Paralysis was in full swing by the looks of it. The Electrike was going to blast his friend with the Electric move. Just like last time.

No. This can't happen like last time. It was too horrible, too wrong. But what can I do against such power? He took a quick glance behind him. The path was empty, ready for him to sprint away while the Electrike was occupied with Quil. Yes, with a head start, Squirtle stood a decent chance of getting away safely. He'd be foolish not to seize this last opportunity.

The Electrike finished building up the electricity. He sprung forward from his crouch, heading toward Quil's trembling body. In a couple of seconds, there would be that yellow flash and blast of sound. Quil would be skidding across the dirt, knocked out cold, or worse. It was inevitable. There was nothing Squirtle could do. The Electrike was an Electric-type, after all.

But no, this can't happen. I won't let this happen again! Why are Quil and I doing all of this training? We're trying to combat Electric-types, not run away from them. We want to help, not cower in fear. Don't we? How can I work against Electric-types if I choose to not fight?

Squirtle scowled at the Electrike. A snarl arose from his throat. He did not fight it, barely noticed it.

I forbid this Electrike from hurting Quil! I won't let him repeat what Luxio did! This violation will end!

The Electrike leaped upward to come bearing down on Quil. Greedy malevolence shone in his eyes. Glowing electricity jumped all over his body, crackling with the potential to do great harm.

A focused stream of water impacted the Electrike right in his belly, in between all four of his legs. Instead of descending upon Quil, the stream repelled him upward so that he soared over both Quil and Squirtle. He crashed snout-first into the path behind them with a yelp.

Squirtle worked his jaw and tongue uneasily. When his Water Gun stream had connected him to the Electrike's body, he'd felt electric current passing through the link and shocking his mouth. Fortunately, it felt like only a small fraction of electricity had made it across. No doubt the electricity had been concentrated in the Electrike's head and front legs, or the technique simply was not intended to transmit its energy through water like that.

Nonetheless, he was elated when he came back to himself. He'd protected Quil, and stood up to an Electric-type for the first time! The latter was a huge achievement, as choosing to fight instead of ignore, flee, or cower was half the battle in his mind.

Quil still looked quite paralyzed. As the Paralysis had originated from an Electric technique, it would definitely last for quite a while, and not let up an inch, either. It would be up to Squirtle to protect them again, somehow.

The Electrike barked an angry challenge as he rose to his feet, water droplets falling onto the dirt. The iciness in his demeanor was gone. His teeth seemed to gleam as he bared them at Squirtle. The glow took on a yellow tint that intensified as Squirtle watched the Electrike run toward him.

That must be another Electric move it knows! Yes, I can hear the hum now. Well, I've already decided to battle this Electrike, so I won't give up now!

As the Electrike closed in, Squirtle could see the two fangs in its upper jaw were the source of the light. The fangs were elongated so that each extruded out of the mouth in a vicious curve, and glowed with electricity made solid. Squirtle cringed, but held fast to his optimism. If being bitten by an Arbok was unpleasant, how would it feel to have electrified fangs plunged into his flesh?

Withdrawing into his shell would be of no help, since it provided very little defense against the elements, if any at all. Dodging successfully seemed unlikely, so Squirtle had only one option. He readied his mind and body for a Water Gun attack.

The Electrike was a mere ten feet away when he slowed down to avoid Squirtle's Water Gun. The slow-down granted the Electrike the stability required to barely side-step the stream that spewed toward him. Squirtle jerked his head left to track his foe's abrupt change of position, but his stream became messy and unfocused with the jerk.

The Electrike was less than a second away from striking range. Squirtle could not focus his stream in time to produce enough force to push the Electrike back. There was no way out now. The Electrike would land his Electric attack unhindered. He yelled involuntarily as he ended his technique, resulting in a gurgling and wet scream of fear. The hum and yellow glow of the electric fangs grew in his vision as the Electrike lunged. But his eyes were looking elsewhere suddenly, past Squirtle's head.

A dark shape came between Squirtle and the Electrike at the last moment. It slammed its white head into the Electrike's forelegs and chest, pushing him away from Squirtle. Whether by whiplash or by intent, the Electrike's jaw whipped forward onto his assailant's shoulder and his upper fangs bit deeply into its brown back.

The threatening light and noise of the electricity were extinguished instantly. No echoing thunder, no flash of light, no sparks flying every which way. The electricity just vanished completely with no effect. The Electrike's assailant didn't even flinch as it pushed the Electrike back with the force of its blow.

The electricity...was ineffectual? Yet every other time I've seen electricity, it's been this immense, destructive energy. It's always been loud, flashy, intimidating. I don't understand.

The Electrike and stranger separated. The Electric Pokémon quick-stepped backward, still reeling from the doubtlessly unexpected blow. In fact, he seemed dazed. His face was contorted into a grimace, and his eyes were pointed at some bare patch of path, unfocused.

Now that the newcomer was not in motion and not right in Squirtle's face, he could examine it more closely. When he did, his brow raised in surprise. That short brown tail. Those spikes along its spine. The short and squat body. And yes, of course, it gripped a long bone in its left hand. The Pokémon turned its skull-clad head to meet Squirtle's eyes.

“Looks like you owe me again,” said Bein.

Squirtle could not mistake him, even before he'd spoken; this was definitely Bein. His Squirtle brain must be wired to pick up on tiny features and cues attached to each individual, so that different members of the same species were distinguishable to him. Which miniscule clues indicated that this was Bein, Squirtle could not say.

“Bein!” cried Squirtle joyously, followed by a cough to clear his throat of the failed Water Gun's remnants. “How did y--”

“Battle's not done yet,” Bein cut him off as he turned back to face the Electrike. “Come on, show me your strongest move, Zapper!”

The Electrike shook his head roughly then refocused his eyes on Squirtle and Bein. His fierce demeanor became cowed as he got a good look at Bein. A moment later however, his confidence seemed to return twofold, and he shot daggers at Squirtle and Bein.

Squirtle knew the tables had turned. While he himself could not face the Electrike in open battle with even a slim chance of victory, Bein was a Ground-type. He would win for both of them. Nonetheless, Squirtle was not going to be dead-weight. He would not be able to live with himself if Quil was hurt again because he had mistakenly placed all of his faith in Bein. His strategic gears whirred, quickly producing a bare-bones plan while the Electrike recovered.

“Bein, I'm going to sneak through the grass for an ambush, keep his attention!”

Before he jumped into the thick grass, Squirtle saw the Cubone blink an uncomprehending look at him. As if he hadn't made a lick of sense, or had spoken too quickly to be understood. No time to clarify his intentions or plan further, though. Squirtle inscribed the shape of a lunar crescent as he circled through the grass around the path, hoping to emerge just behind the Electrike. The brush made noise, indicating Squirtle's position, but what would the Electrike do about Squirtle with a Ground-type facing him down?

Squirtle heard the Electrike and Cubone clash once more in close-quarters combat. Bein grunted periodically in his coarse voice, maybe from swinging his bone. The Electrike made muffled growls like a Herdier with a toy in its mouth. No electrical noise rent the air. The Electrike evidently had the wherewithal to refrain from wasting its electrical attacks on a Ground-type. That meant it was using other attacks. Attacks that would be as effective on a Ground-type as on any other. Bein could still lose!

Squirtle hustled into position. He pushed his face out of the tall grass just enough that the Electrike would probably see him if he looked, but his opponent was busy biting Bein. Squirtle allowed the feral portion of his mind full control to line up a shot, so that when the moment arrived, he could draw from his Pool and let it rip. With an upward stroke of his bone, Bein threw the Electrike off. For a brief moment, the two were distinct targets, and Squirtle aimed to confidently hit only one. His Water Gun blasted out of the grass and into the Electrike's side.

Squirtle sustained his Water Gun for record time, and by the time the flow ended, the Electrike lay defeated on the soaked dirt. His soaked fur rose rapidly with his labored breathing. Bein had been advancing with his bone held high, but now lowered it and came to a halt beside the Electrike. Squirtle came out of the brush to stand beside Bein. The Electrike eyed them without lifting his head. The battle was over.

Bein adeptly twirled his bone and thudded its butt against the ground, before giving their fallen enemy a half-bow. Squirtle tried not to let the motion distract him as he fought internally over what to do. His eyes were drawn to the yellow coloring of the Electrike's fur. The Electrike was irrevocably an Electric-type, and highly dangerous as long as he was awake and able to use his moves. Squirtle knew from recent first-hand experience that even while fatigued, the power of one's techniques was usually undiminished, if ever.

There's no way I'm turning my back on a conscious Electric-type, especially not an individual like this Electrike. Not for my sake alone, but also Quil's.

His expression hardened as Squirtle made up his mind. Before he could change it, he drew water into his mouth from his Pool, and blasted the Electrike's snout with a Water Gun. He cut off the flow after a couple of seconds, aiming to just push the Electrike over the brink to unconsciousness. When he finished the Electrike's eyes were shut. He'd fainted.

“Fight was over. Why'd you knock him out?” Bein asked in a tone that was not incensed, but not kindly either.

“I'm far from comfortable around Electric Pokémon,” Squirtle said calmly, “and that Electrike did not seem the type to take a defeat lying down. Sorry if I breached any taboo.”

Bein's hard gaze on Squirtle grew distant. A new emotion like sympathy or understanding came into his eyes. “Fair,” he said, and followed as Squirtle hurried over to Quil.

Quil still trembled, but much less violently. His voice was steadier, too. “I'll be able to move in a few seconds. His Paralysis is wearing off. Nice battling, Squirtle! I...I'm really glad you defended me against that Electric attack he was going to land on me. So thank you.”

Squirtle smiled, pleased that he'd made a difference. Not only had he stood up to an Electric, but he'd won the entire battle! With some help. “Don't mention it.”

Quil's snout shifted toward Bein. “Perfect timing, Bein! Thanks for your help!”

Squirtle quickly joined in with his thanks, but Bein waved them off. “Eh, no need to thank me. I heard the Thunder Wave and I was only a little ways behind on the path. I naturally rushed over.”

“At this rate,” said Squirtle with a chuckle, “we'll never be able to pay you back for all you did for us in Karprest.”

Bein waved it off once again, but the corners of his eyes crinkled. Squirtle guessed he was smiling beneath the bony helmet, but couldn't tell for sure. The Cubone's entire head was concealed beneath the ivory bone except for a small area around the eyes.

Quil asked, “How come you were so close to us on the path Bein? What are you doing in Blind Prairie?”

“Mm. Been a busy few days. For all of us, no doubt. Bit of a long story why I'm here.”

Squirtle was interested in the Cubone's story, but his attention was diverted by the Electrike. Would he be hostile the moment he awoke? At least he would be severely weak, and correspondingly close to passing out once more.

“I'd like to hear your story too, Bein. I have some questions for this Electrike when he wakes up, so Quil and I will be waiting here for a bit anyway, if that's fine with you Quil.”

Quil head tilted in evident surprise, but he gave an affirmative. He and Squirtle joined Bein in taking a seat close, but not too close to the defeated Electrike.

Bein tapped his bone against one of his helmet's horn-like protrusions in a gentle, steady rhythm. A nervous tic? An idle habit?

“I'm no Chatot, and I don't like telling long stories. But fine.” He paused presumably to gather his thoughts. “Saw you two knocked out by Stolt that morning. Left after that, made my way south to Vyre. Karprest isn't my home anyway, don't have one. Didn't like Vyre, way too many Planters. Heard refugees were gathering more northward, and eastward. I crossed the Karp with some other 'mon, came up to Blindhollow from the south.”

His eyes narrowed, and his voice became even gruffer. “Did you pass through there too?”

Squirtle's face darkened as he nodded along with Quil.

“That Raichu took my bone tool set from me. Brought three of my niftiest bones from my place in Karprest. Now this one's all I've got. Least it's my most versatile, my favorite. Now I'm moving on toward Cavetown. Heard it's a refugee hotspot, and refugees means work for me. Building's what I do. Plenty of Grounders live 'round there too, can't be a bad place.”

Squirtle smiled at that, and recalled the brief flare of kinship he'd felt with Keel beneath the Karp's surface.

“Wow,” said Quil, “Sorry to hear about your, um, bone tools. But we're on our way to Cavetown too! D'you want to come with us Bein?”

The Electrike stirred. The three turned their attention to their fallen opponent. His legs stretched out, and his eyes slowly blinked open. Upon seeing the Squirtle and Cubone standing only a few feet away, watching him, he growled quietly in his throat.

Squirtle mustered up a scowl, and walked over to the Electrike in what he hoped was an intimidating swagger. He spoke in a stern voice.

“If I see so much as a stray spark, it'll be lights out for you again, Electrike. Understand?”

In response, the Electrike's lips drew back to show his teeth. The growl became more audible.

Squirtle pressed on, not knowing an appropriate alternative. “Why'd you attack me and my Cyndaquil friend?”

“Tch. Why am I attacking travelers?” His voice was weak from his bout of unconsciousness, but grew stronger as he spoke. “Listen, Squirtle. Imagine you were suddenly a Blastoise, with no explanation. Huge, tough, with ludicrously powerful water cannons on your back. You get into battles with the Pokémon around you like always, but they're like tiny hatchling Vulpix to you now. It's absolutely pitiful.”

The Electrike shook his head gingerly as if in disbelief. “So what do you do, eh, what do you do? You have everything you could want, and life's easy. Every battle, every dispute, every problem is laughable to you now. A fair fight would be nice, like in the days past. That's not going to happen though. How could a fight between a Blastoise and a newly-hatched Vulpix be fair?” He barked out a laugh.

“You don't belong anymore where you used to live. Everything's wrong. You used to be like one of the blades of grass that makes up Blind Prairie, like everyone else. Some blades are bigger than others, yeah, and some are shaped weirdly. But now you're the one tree for miles. The grass around you doesn't have a chance of seeing the sun. More than ever, you want things to feel like they used to. You're yearning for some competition. So what would you do Squirtle? What else can a 'mon do but what I did?”

The explanation gave Squirtle pause. Was the Electrike wrong? From the Electrike's perspective, his attitude and actions made a twisted kind of sense. His hostility wasn't difficult to justify. What else would he do in his situation?

Squirtle tried not to show any of his doubt on his face. “Whatever. Let's get to the important questions. During the huge storm a few days ago, how did you feel? Did you come out of it a changed Pokémon, or did you not even feel different?”

This question went back to the musings of Quil and he shortly after speaking with Hayzin and his group. What exactly had the storm done to Electric-types?

Quil, now able to walk, joined Squirtle, and while Bein hung back, his posture betrayed his interest. The Electrike rose slowly to his feet, growled a bit in irritation. No signs of electricity though. So far, every Electric technique had begun with a foreboding hum. Squirtle suspected that no Electric technique could occur before that signature humming noise.

“What is this?” said the Electrike. “You beat me in a battle, so move on! I've never had a 'mon stick around after winning or probe me with questions about my life. It's weird, you know that?”

“I'm not like other Pokémon,” Squirtle responded. “Answer the questions and we'll be gone in a minute.”

The Electrike still had incomprehension written on his face, but he soon complied in the face of three expectant Pokémon.

“I didn't feel strange during the storm. I went about my business as normal, seeing as I'm an Electric. Next time I used my Spark or Thunder Fang though...” His eyes lit up with remembered joy. “Indescribable.”

Squirtle, a bit unsettled by the response, continued his questioning. “Did you start to act differently after the storm because of your new power, or because of the storm itself?”

The Electrike gave him a confused look. “You think the storm messed with my brain? No Squirtle, no. How would that make sense? I feel fine, think fine. Only change is the wonderful, fantastic new electricity.”

“So if some non-Electric Pokémon learns an Electric move, will it be supercharged? Or is it only Electric-type Pokémon that have been bolstered?”

The Electrike had grinned briefly. “Supercharged! I like it. But how would I know the answer to that? I'm an Electric-type, so I can't do any Electric moves as not an Electric-type. Sheesh!” He looked pleased at his cleverness.

Good point, Squirtle conceded. He tried to dredge up more questions for this rare opportunity of interrogating an Electric-type, but he figured he'd exhausted all of them.

“Am I forgetting anything?” he asked Quil, who shook his head.

“I'm leaving now, alright? We're done?” the Electrike asked, caught between self-confidence and subservience.

Squirtle stepped back with Quil to give the Electrike some space. He pointed back the way they'd come with a claw. “Go that way, where you were heading before our battle. We won't hesitate to attack if you do anything but walk away in a straight line.”

The Electrike brushed against Squirtle as he walked away. It was not a rough push, but likely a deliberate one. His skin tingled for a few seconds afterward with a prickling sensation. If the shock was intentional, the Electrike did not show it. Squirtle wondered if he could even control the base-line charge of his fur coat.

“Fine, I was making for that direction already, obviously. No need to worry about us meeting again; I don't like to battle one versus three when a Grounder's involved. My instinct to battle instincts has been pretty relaxed since I left home anyway.”

The three watched the Electrike walk calmly away, head held high. He exhibited no signs of having been senseless minutes before.

“You are totally immune to electricity, right Bein?” asked Quil as the Electrike's form dwindled into the coming dusk.

Bein grunted. “Before, and now. Current can't get through my body. Stops at my skin.”

Squirtle was turning over the Electrike's answers in his head, when Bein turned to him. “You sound interested in the Zapper...boost. That because you're a Wet?”

“Oh, Quil and I have been trying to determine how this whole phenomenon developed, and how exactly it works now. We ran into a Zebstrika yesterday, the first friendly Electric-type we've encountered, but we forgot to ask him about the storm and his new capabilities. I'm glad you helped us get that Electrike into a position where we could ask him instead.”

“Mm. You think you two have a firm idea of what's going on?”

Squirtle and Quil made the facial equivalent of shrugs to each other. Squirtle said, “Sort of. We probably know more than most Pokémon simply because we've been traveling, and have witnessed Zappers in action a few times now. We've thought about the situation a good deal while walking.”

Bein grunted, then his eyes flicked between them as if considering a decision. The sky's clouds were a striking salmon color in unity with the sunset, and the blue of the sky had paled. Before long, Bein turned aside and faced up the path toward Cavetown.

“I appreciate the invitation to travel with you two. I accept.”

Quil leaped into the air with a hoot of joy, almost a mirror of his display in response to Squirtle accepting the offer to travel together outside of Root Forest. Despite a tiny twinge of an unfamiliar emotion, jealousy, Squirtle couldn't help but leap up with a cheer as well. He figured he liked Bein. Straightforward, gruff, yes. He nonetheless came off to Squirtle as generous and genuine. They owed him big for all of the help he'd given, too.

After calming down, Quil spoke up with a sensible suggestion. “Squirtle and I have been battling all day long. Would you mind if we got some rest until morning, and set out then?”

The three would have been able to make more progress before the day grew too dark, but Squirtle and fortunately Bein were in full agreement.

The Cubone walked a few paces off the path. “Quil, mind burning away the grass here in a two-foot radius?”

“Does that mean...”

“A circle, four feet across.”

“Er, sure Bein.”

Some fiery embers and a controlled burn later, Bein set his bone down and dug his entire arms into the soil. With a frenzy of precise but vigorous movement, Bein dug into the ground. Loose dirt was sent flying every which way in a veritable fountain of earth as the Cubone descended. The dirt being dug up grew slightly darker with moisture as Bein dug deeper. Seconds later, he stopped.

Bein stood in a bowl-like depression, similar to the one in his Karprest residence. The walls were rough and little rootlets from the surrounding grass poked a short way into the bowl's space. Still, for being constructed in about five seconds, the hole looked rather comfortable compared to the plain, packed dirt of the surface. The rim was a little bit taller than Bein's helmet horns, and there was enough space on the bowl's floor for all three of them to lie down. No curious Pokémon would be able to see at first glance that the arrangement was any more than a hole in the ground. Plus, the path was not damaged, since the hole was made amid the grasses.

“Amazing,” commented Squirtle. “We can sleep cozily in there tonight, right? This'll be a treat. Thank you Bein!”

“My pleasure. Learned the best way to dig quickly from a Diggersby when I was learning construction basics years ago. Cubone don't typically learn how, but digging is part of my trade. Worked hard at it until I had the technique mastered.”

He pulled the bone into the bowl with him, laid down, and wiggled about to waterfall some loose dirt over his body. Appropriately blanketed, he faced the wall. He said nothing further. His eyes were closed. Apparently he was done with the world for the time being.

Squirtle saw that Quil was as perplexed as he was. They climbed down into the earthy basin. Quil curled up as he was wont to do. Squirtle lay on his belly, but the rim of his shell was caught slanted on the wall of the bowl, so he scooted closer to Quil and Bein. The only way to fit his entire shell on the basin's floor was to actually press up against the two others filling the small bowl. They did not seem to mind his contact. Finally, he was comfortable.

Quil's body gave a peculiar little shiver. The air was not cold enough to mandate shivering, especially for a Fire-type, so Squirtle chalked it up to excitement or coziness. Quil had said he used to live in a burrow. The present arrangement couldn't be too different from the way he slept with his family at home.

“Good night, Squirtle, Bein!”

“Good night Quil. Good night Bein.”

Grunt.

Squirtle retracted into his shell. The world became a friendly darkness. His darkness. His waking mind eased toward sleep, like driftwood in a busy stream finally floating gently onto the bank. Quil's warm glow washed over one edge of his shell, and Bein's solid bulk pressed against another. Squirtle found it to be the easiest night yet to fall asleep. In his last thoughts before slumber reached him he wondered why, in Karprest's lodge, the prospect of falling asleep surrounded by Pokémon had been so frightening.


	18. Uncertainty

“Did you enjoy the rain, Bein?” asked Quil the next day, as the three hiked the path toward Cavetown.

Quil chuckled at his rhyme joke from Squirtle's right. When they had set out, he'd stayed well on the side of the path to allow Squirtle or Bein to take front and center. Bein walked on Squirtle's left. Like Quil, he'd made room for Squirtle in the path's center. Squirtle figured he did not want to separate the two who had been traveling together for days. The Cubone replied with no humor in his voice.

“No. The rain soaks into the earth, so even when I dig myself underground I still get wet. Awful.”

Squirtle didn't take the center position on the path by personal choice, but as a side-effect of Quil's and Bein's choices. He felt thankful that the path was more than wide enough for them to walk three abreast, because the mental image of him taking the lead in a single-file march made him uncomfortable.

He took a go at some 'Type humor' which he supposed was common among Pokémon.

“Water's not so bad Bein. In fact, it's an element I hold dear to my heart.”

Bein did not so much as grunt in response, though he got a small chuckle out of Quil.

“Why did you sneak around the Electrike through the grass during the battle?” asked Bein, effectively changing the topic and smothering the light mood.

Squirtle formulated an answer with caution. Whatever reason Bein had for being curious, Squirtle did not want to alienate him by saying the wrong thing.

“For the same reason I knocked him out after the battle. I really don't want to be electrified again. I went through the grass so that he wouldn't be able to hit me with a move as easily, and so that his attention would be drawn to you instead. I thought it was a fine strategy, since you're immune to electricity.”

Bein was not appeased. “A fine strategy,” he repeated slowly. “I didn't think the Squirtle species was known for tricky fighting methods. Like repositioning using grass as cover.”

What was Bein trying to say? Was he upset that they'd won the battle dishonorably?

“Squirtle aren't, but this Squirtle is,” Quil put in. “He's...not like other Pokémon. We've been using strategy and communication during our battles, and it's worked out well for us! I know it sounds strange, and it felt strange too, at first. But I can't deny how effective it is to fight with more than your gut feelings and instincts.”

Squirtle did not like the direction this conversation was going. Quil might not have known what a human was, but the more worldly Bein might have heard of his kind. Whether he had a negative or positive conception of humans, Squirtle did not want to find out. He preferred to be identified as a Pokémon for the time being.

“I had an idea about how to better defeat the Electrike, so I suggested it. Do you think I behaved wrongly Bein?” He'd meant to sound logical and aloof, but had sounded more accusatory than intended.

“Not sure. Never seen a 'mon say or do what you said and did. Your actions...” He glanced over at Quil for a second. “...make sense. But it's hard to believe you can completely defy your instincts. From what I've seen of your line, the way other Squirtle think and battle isn't at all how you do.”

“Feel free to think on it, or even ask me any questions you have. I know I'm different from other Pokémon, like Quil said. I hope you don't mind if I make tactical suggestions should we end up in another battle together.”

“That reminds me,” said Quil. “Squirtle and I have been alternating between covering the miles and practicing our moves against wild 'mon. We want to become tougher, so that, uh, we,” Suddenly he was stumbling over his words. “It doesn't matter. That's what we've been doing though. Would you mind if we kept doing that? With you on our side, we might win for once!”

Quil was reluctant to reveal their reason for training. Why? Perhaps simple embarrassment at taking on a task so absurdly overwhelming: rectifying the Electric catastrophe. Anyhow, Squirtle wouldn't divulge their reason if Quil had some purpose in not telling.

“Hm,” Bein grunted. “I wanted to reach Cavetown as soon as possible. I'll battle if a wilder stops us, of course. Otherwise, I'm moving forward. Sorry. I have no reason to improve my moves right now. I'm a builder, not a fighter.”

Quil replied with a quiet “Oh.”

Squirtle was disappointed too. The taste of progress was still fresh in his mouth from the previous day, which was filled to the brim with battle practice. Given enough days like that, the fruits of their labor would pay off. On the other hand, avoiding battles en route to Cavetown would only set them back one or two days. The previous day he'd visually confirmed that within a few hours they'd be out of the Prairie. That would surely put them close to Cavetown, and the end of Bein's no-training restriction. Squirtle didn't know how far out of Blind Prairie they would find Cavetown, but couldn't imagine it taking longer than another day.

Wild Pokémon might seek them out on the way, instead of vice versa. It wouldn't be the first time. Once they were out of the grasses and the range of vision was much higher, the battle frequency would hopefully increase. Pokémon wouldn't be able to hide from each other as easily with no tall grasses obscuring the landscape.

“That's alright,” said Squirtle. “We'll not look for battles until Cavetown then, if that's fine with you Quil.”

Quil agreed, and the three continued their walk together. Quil asked Bein about the homemade salad ingredients he'd set on the table back in Karprest. Soon they were discussing food combinations and preparation techniques that had Squirtle's mouth close to watering, even though he only recognized about a quarter of the raw ingredients that were mentioned. He could not contribute much to the conversation, but was more than happy to learn.

The early afternoon saw them exit Blind Prairie at long last. The grasses thinned out and grew shorter as other vegetation took their place. Bitterbrush, needlegrass, and other common herbaceous plants flourished on the foothills ahead. The path curved to slope generally upward. In minutes, the grassland had been replaced by totally different flora. Here, the scenery was more verdant, and the grass was a half foot long at the maximum. Off-road travel would be easy if desired, as only bushes and other small plants dotted the rounded landscape. Pine trees stood higher up the slopes like sentinels watching over Blind Prairie. They guarded the way to the snow-capped peaks beyond.

The light breeze that used to sweep the tips of Blind Prairie's grasses became a legitimate wind out in the exposed countryside. The wind carried the sounds of wild Pokémon now and then, but they were less frequent than in the Prairie. New scents tickled Squirtle's nostrils, and the feeling of the wind at his back lifted his heart. He grinned at the path ahead.

Bein displayed more interest than exuberance, and Quil looked only mildly cheered by the change.

“This region of foothills and mountains is called Heartless Heights,” the Cyndaquil said. “Don't ask me why. The area doesn't strike me as a harsh place to live. Cavetown is supposed to be a day or two's travel along this path toward the mountain peaks over there. If we see a big scary cave mouth, then we've arrived!”

Squirtle shook his head wonderingly. “Quil, how do you remember all of the details of your journey? You know the routes, the shortcuts, the travel times, the names; did you really memorize it all before you left?”

“No way I was leaving home without being prepared. I dreaded getting lost, and I wanted to get the journey over with as soon as possible. So I spent an entire day memorizing the details before I left. I had my father quiz me that night,” he said wistfully. 

As the day wore on, Squirtle was surprised to realize the terrain was actually offering his body a challenge. While the path did not lead directly toward the mountains' peaks, the path's slope was steep enough to turn the hike into an uphill struggle. Switchbacks punctuated the long expanses of hillside straightaways. Squirtle did not think he could sweat, which he considered to be ironic since he was a Water-type, but his breath came hot and heavy on the more difficult sections. He tried to see the bright side by comparing his current fitness to the much inferior stamina of any human.

With the increasing altitude, the character of the environment took on what Squirtle called “that unmistakable mountain atmosphere”. He felt isolated and exposed on the plain expanse of the slopes. Bein was more worried about how far they were from the bedrock and how thin the air was. Quil was fixated on the nonstop breeze that swept over them, chilling the air they breathed.

The journey was not entirely uneventful. Quil spotted and pointed out a flock of Spearow to the east a few hills over, and they encountered a Pokémon similar to a Yanma resting on a flat stone. It scuttled out of sight immediately and was not seen again. Bein called it a Vibrava, a Pokémon that one day might become the mighty Flygon. Squirtle wondered if it would have engaged in battle had there only been only one traveler, or if its nature was to avoid any open confrontations. Quil and Bein did not claim to know, but agreed that all Pokémon had to battle at some point if they wanted to become successful in the wilderness or evolve one day.

Other than the wild denizens of Heartless Heights, the three spotted Pokémon that could only be travelers on paths of adjacent hills and paths that connected to their own. The Pokémon used the measured stride of a journey with a long road ahead, not the quick movements or cautious steps of a Pokémon living in the area. Most of the travelers appeared to be heading toward the vicinity of Cavetown. Not a single one was heading downhill.

Squirtle identified a Hitmonlee and Tyrogue far ahead before they vanished amid the pine trees farther up the mountainside. A squat yellow Pokémon that Quil called a Makuhita trailed them a good distance, coming from Blind Prairie. Later in the day, they could see a small group of the Clefairy species line partially silhouetted on a mountain ridge to the west. In Squirtle's growing geographical picture of the surrounding lands, he imagined they were coming from some locale between the Karp river and the western edge of Heartless Heights' mountains and hills.

While most of them walked empty-handed, some lugged what must have been their scant belongings along with them. One Torchic appeared to be wearing a scarf or choker, but Squirtle couldn't be sure from the distance separating them.

He could not think of any decent reason to suggest altering their group's pace so that they could intercept a fellow traveler, and neither Quil nor Bein brought it up either. Everyone would likely end up in the same place: Cavetown. He had the feeling that there was something he wanted from Pokémon other than Bein and Quil, but he chalked it up to his natural inquisitiveness. The feeling soon passed. So they continued hiking in their small group, making no efforts to bump into any other traveling Pokémon.

“Refugees, all of 'em,” Bein speculated as they peered westward through the sun's rays at the Cleffa, Clefairy, and Clefable hiking upward on a narrow winding path.

“I can't think of any other reason for Pokémon to be traveling up here,” said Squirtle.

“Actually,” said Quil, “I can think of a few! Sometimes Pokémon will leave home to practice fighting against opponents that live in different habitats if they want a change from their own. Or there are traveling traders, carriers, 'mon visiting friends and family. I heard stories of Pokémon explorers too, but I don't know how true those are. Sounds too strenuous, especially if you don't have wings.”

“The way they carry themselves. The sluggishness. Refugees, I'm telling you,” Bein insisted.

“If they are all refugees,” said Squirtle, “it's such a shame. No doubt it's the Type imbalance that's brought it on. You were right Bein, when you said Cavetown was a refugee hotspot. I hope the victims can return home before long.”

“Somehow, we'll fix things Squirtle!” said Quil enthusiastically, followed by a quieter, “Whoops.”

A couple of seconds of tense hiking passed before Bein responded.

“What do you mean?”

“Um. Well. Squirtle and I want to help out the 'mon in places like Blindhollow and Karprest. The Electric boost has twisted up the way of life for so many 'mon. We felt obligated to help...” he trailed off.

Much to Quil's apparent relief and surprise, Bein's tone was not skeptical or belittling. He stopped walking to face Quil fully.

“How? What can you do?”

Squirtle's surprise was no less than Quil's. He quickly recovered, emboldened by Bein's serious query, and continued where Quil left off. “Our plan was to train ourselves to become fighters worthy of esteem, learn about Cavetown's position in this debacle, and consider joining up with other like-minded Pokémon to set things right.” His voice lost some of its confidence as he moved to the next part of his speech. “Then, we'd battle or talk down the troublemakers like Raizula and Stolt, or rally the townsfolk, or we'll do something. We haven't established our plans that far in advance. It's a work in progress.”

“Hm. Nothing wrong with some improvisation. No project worth doing can account for every changing circumstance, in my experience. Those are some very bold aspirations. I wonder if you two can make a difference.”

Bein eyed the two up and down, but his eyes lingered on Squirtle most. He looked back in Blindhollow's direction, and then toward Cavetown. Squirtle wondered what comparisons he was making in his head, what calculations and estimations the down-to-earth Cubone favored. Squirtle found himself caring about this Pokémon's opinion more than at any other time in his short life as a Pokémon. Something about the Cubone's demeanor and manner of speech signified authority to Squirtle. He had an air of respectability about him, and undeniable good sense.

“I'm a crafter of protected, safe homes,” said Bein softly. “I don't soothe the restless, I don't smother the fire. I can be the Heal Pulse in this situation, but I won't be the aggressor. Don't even like traveling.”

Was he talking to them, or to himself? Squirtle noted Bein's left hand fidgeting with his bone, and the claws of his right hand gripping at what wasn't there. He looked toward Blindhollow again with narrowed eyes before speaking in a more sure voice to Squirtle and Quil.

“Regarding your goal: fight well. I'm eager to learn about the situation in Cavetown too. Let's not waste time.” He turned his skull-clad head up the path and set off once more.

“Would be great to have a Grounder with us for the plan,” murmured Quil. “Especially Bein. He's a great 'mon.”

Squirtle eyed the Cubone's thick tail as it counter-balanced his walking movements along the difficult path. “I thoroughly agree. Unfortunately, I have a hunch that Bein isn't the type to change his mind. Cavetown's supposed to be home to plenty of other Ground-types at least, right?”

This didn't appear to mollify Quil, and it didn't mollify Squirtle either if he was being honest with himself. Quil made a vague “Mm”, before they trotted forward to catch up to Bein. They spoke of their ambitious plan no more.

* * *

The three decided unanimously to take breaks every now and then as needed. On the threshold of entering the treeline, Quil called for one such break so that he could take a final look at Blind Prairie now a respectable distance below and behind them.

“We can see most of the Prairie from here. Doesn't it look like a huge yellow lake? With some green and brown color mixed in?”

“The shadow of the mountains at our back can't even cover all of it,” Squirtle added as he leaned his shell back against one of the shorter pines. He'd once again been surprised at how tall the trees were as a diminutive Squirtle.

The three travelers watched the Prairie for a silent moment before Quil spoke again. “Hard to believe there's anything wrong with the world. Everything looks peaceful from up here.”

That comment added a depressing tinge to Squirtle's tranquil appreciation of the scenery. No matter how high up they were, or how orderly and beautiful the land looked, he knew there were Pokémon among those grasses whose lives had been completely upended a few days ago. And nothing those Pokémon could do would change that.

Bein turned to face up the path. “We should move.” He moved onward, occasionally using his bone as a walking stick to give himself an extra push around a corner or over an obstacle. Squirtle and Quil turned away from the sight of the grassland and entered the domain of the pines.

Curiously, the path became straight and true once it wove into the treeline. Unlike the rest of Heartless Heights thus far, the path led directly toward the snowy mountain peaks. No switchbacks, no turning to either side, and no path artifice designed to ease the sharp elevation gain. It was as if whoever originally forged the path wanted to spend as little time beneath the boughs of the pine trees as possible.

The forest was a gloomy place, if only because of the amount of light that made it past the filter of the pine needles. The forest floor was especially dark because of the late hour of the day. Quiet, dim, and unfamiliar, Squirtle was hardly fond of the new environment. He consoled himself by recalling how thin the strip of forest was that they had to pass through. The bulk of the forest lay on other mountains or maybe on the other side of the range. The trees only grew on a relatively narrow altitude range on their path.

“This must be Weird Wood,” Quil said, peering up at the branches. “The forest covers big portions of these mountains, but the part we're in is really small. We should make it out the other side shortly.”

“What's weird about them?” asked Squirtle, feigning a casual air to keep his spirits up.

“A good number of Shadows and Ghosts like this Wood, according to what I learned. That's all,” Quil replied in a similarly indifferent manner.

Squirtle wondered if Quil was playing the same casual game. He resisted the urge to ask further about the Pokémon rumored to inhabit Weird Wood. Fear was contagious, and Squirtle did not wish the affliction on Quil or Bein. He settled for reassuring himself that Ghost-type Pokémon weren't actually dead spirits haunting the world of the living, and Dark-type Pokémon couldn't turn invisible and sneak around without making a sound. To the best of his knowledge.

Quil had become less adept at foraging for food once they left the grassland, and in the forest it was no different. Still, he proved to have a few tricks in his noggin that he claimed were a combination of his father's directions, and his natural hunches. Bein did not join in any foraging, but seemed distracted to the point of ignoring his appetite. He remained grateful for any food Quil produced. Even Squirtle managed to find violet berries growing in the forest, and though neither of his companions knew their name, they proved pungent but edible. Their juice inside was unusually cold.

The atmosphere wore them down. Squirtle could see it. The most obvious tell was the way they each had their eyes glued to the branches above their heads. A Pokémon that lived in the Wood would no doubt have the skill to hide itself effectively in the canopy. None of them would want to take a surprise attack on the head, so they continually eyed that blind spot. Squirtle wanted to check his back every now and then, but refrained because Quil and Bein would be able to notice him acting more paranoid than them.

Perhaps he had good reason. The darkness of twilight infiltrated the Wood, turning the few patches of sunlight into shadow. Squirtle swore he could see a pair of oval, red eyes blink at him from the darkness of the trees, but they vanished before he could point them out to the others. A few minutes later, an angry red eye flashed at him in his peripheral vision, but he knew it was his mind playing tricks on him after the earlier incident. And even if they were real, and did belong to Pokémon, so what? What could a wild Pokémon or two do to them?

“Fine stopping here?” Bein proposed.

“Sure,” said Squirtle and Quil quickly, and at the same time. Quil chuckled, but Squirtle knew it to be forced.

As night arrived, Squirtle had been torn between proposing a stop and suggesting they make it through Weird Wood before resting. However, the darkness was becoming fairly absolute, and would make continued walking problematic. Not to mention terrifying. He was reluctant to suggest they stop, too, since Bein was acting so driven to make it to Cavetown as soon as possible.

Some distant voice in Squirtle's head told him to climb a tree and sleep sitting on the branches, since sleeping on a forest floor was unsafe. As Bein dug them another hole, Squirtle mused at how useless advice like that was now that he was a durable and resilient Pokémon.

Quil and Squirtle each said their “Good night” and received a grunt of agreement from Bein, but Squirtle took some time to sufficiently calm himself to fall asleep. Many minutes passed in their cozy hole before Squirtle had the impression that he was close to drifting off.

Now he was walking through Weird Wood. Off the path. Alone amongst the towering trunks and winding branches. Absolute silence weighed him down, driving his feet into the dirt. The air he breathed in bore a cold that chilled him from his lungs outward. The sensation was unusual, as no experience as a Pokémon had succeeded in actually making him uncomfortably cold. He walked past tree after tree, surrounded by darkness.

Suddenly he spotted the path. A welcome relief. Walking through the forest was a very trying experience. Alone on the path, Quil stood completely still, watching him approach.

“Squirtle. I'm here. Come. Come.”

Squirtle grinned and laughed, content that he'd be safe and with Quil again at last. He rushed forward, weaving through the trunks to reach the path.

Wooden fingers snaked down from the darkness above Quil. His friend did not seem to notice.

“Come. I'm here.”

Squirtle tried to shout a warning, but the cold returned twofold. His throat was too dry. His chest was frozen. He threw a hand forward, and pointed a claw above Quil, intent on warning him.

Quil did not react. The wooden appendages reached him, whether they were root, branch, or something else entirely. They curled tightly around all four limbs, and constricted in a sudden jerk. Quil's mouth opened in a scream, but no sound issued forth. The wooden fingers retracted toward the dark canopy, lifting Quil off the ground just as Squirtle reached him.

Quil began to sink into the blackness above as if it were tar. He was sinking in, his body contorted by the passion of his screaming. Still there was silence. Squirtle jumped, straining to grab Quil's flailing legs, but the cold and the quiet deterred his efforts. He could not reach. Above Quil, a massive red eye flashed open, brilliant as the sun.

“Quil!” shouted Squirtle as he shot out of his shell. His tail and left leg plowed into Quil, while his forehead and left arm bumped into Bein. Squirtle scrambled up the sides of the hole, blinking his eyes rapidly to get them to work. He couldn't see Quil, couldn't make out the legs he had to reach. He shouted again as he jumped upward, blindly groping.

“Squirtle? What's happening?!” said Quil hoarsely from below.

Squirtle glanced into the hole. Bein was still sleeping like a rock. Quil was rising to all fours, ready for a battle. Squirtle's head felt like it was filled with wet cotton. When realization finally dawned, he slipped back into the hole, and muttered something about bad dreams.

The next day, Squirtle learned first-hand that Pokémon need sleep just as much as humans, if not more. The poor night's sleep dragged down his whole morning. He hoped he'd be feeling more like himself later in the day. For that to happen, they needed to leave Weird Wood behind. Even in daylight, the trees exuded a sinister vibe to Squirtle. On every tree they passed, he imagined the bark splitting open to grin with pointed teeth at his exposed back.

His discomfort lasted no longer than an hour. The forest floor became uneven, its topography unpredictable. Brief rises changed into shelves, then overhangs. Exposed rock and loose pebbles replaced fertile soil. The trees grew shorter, and the room between them more spacious. Evidently the rocky, irregular soil did not support forest growth. The three travelers came into a more open environment; this was the end of Weird Wood.

The world ahead was entirely shades of gray. Rocks of all shapes and sizes littered the ground, all of them gray. Pokémon would have a million and one hiding spots among the pebbles, boulders, and massive, hard-edged extrusions of the mountainside. Every angle was jagged, except for the beautiful white snow that blanketed the mountainside much higher up. The path was dirt no longer, but a whitish rockdust weaving along the treacherous mountainsides.

Squirtle heaved a sigh of relief as they examined the new surroundings. The thoughts of misfortune and malevolence he'd had in the Wood really were a product of his own mind and nothing else. Not a single Pokémon had attacked, and nothing supernatural had occurred.

I can't become my own worst enemy. If we're going to take on these intimidating Electric bullies, I'll be facing more daunting foes than the creepy atmosphere of some forest. Hopefully I won't have any more nightmares from a bit of darkness and some red eyes, whether they belonged to a real Pokémon or not.

“This looks like it better fits the name Heartless Heights,” commented Quil, as they rested at the last handful of trees.

“Should be almost to Cavetown, right?” Squirtle asked, to which Quil replied an affirmative.

Bein hefted his bone up onto a shoulder. “I like this place. Paradise for Rocks, obviously, and Grounders too I bet. If we run into a 'mon with the wild in its eyes, your water will be effective,” he said, looking in Squirtle's direction.

“And I'll be as useful as a Metapod. Sorry,” added Quil, though he seemed to have good humor about the situation.

“I'll do my best,” said Squirtle with what he hoped was reassuring confidence.

The group's pace slowed in this new section. Possibly, the reason was that their destination was so assuredly close. Or, the anxiety that the Wood brought was now left behind, allowing a more tranquil walking speed. More practically speaking, the dangers of cutting oneself on an exposed rock edge or slipping on a loose rock encouraged a more cautious pace.

The higher altitude made exposure to the cold wind and solitary quiet all the more noticeable. Physical challenges took Squirtle's mind off the world around him, which he saw as both a blessing and a curse. The path became a demanding switchback leading up the face of a cliffside, the largest switchback they had yet encountered. Between each of the many bends, the path increased the altitude by at least ten feet. Squirtle heard heavy, measured breathing from his two companions as well as his own mouth. 

At the third bend of the cliffside's path, a grumbling voice called down a couple of words from up the mountainside. The source was from a portion of the switchback further along, somewhere on the next segment of the path. Squirtle could not identify what the words were were due to the unfamiliar speaker, but they sounded like “Our spot!” or “Do not!”

As one, the three turned their heads to face the voice, but no Pokémon stood out from the background of gray rock.

Quil rose higher up on his legs. “I hear...movement from up ahead.”

Two seconds later, Squirtle could hear it too. An erratic rumbling. As it grew louder, he could tell it was closer to a staccato of dull thuds, not a continuous rumble. From out of the rocks, the source of the rumble came rolling out.

A large gray boulder twice Squirtle's height bounced down the rocky slope, scraping against the larger rocks as it rolled. Every bash sent chips of stone shrapnel flying. The irregularities on the boulder's surface were a blur, such was its speed. Now on the path, a fine white dust cloud arose in its wake. In a few blinks of the eye it had nearly reached them.

The narrow path of the cliffside switchback allowed little room to maneuver. Bein hugged the cliff on the inner side of the path. Squirtle gave his body up to his surprise, and reflexively fell to all fours for dodging purposes. Quil, on the exposed outer edge of the path, tensed up with his forelimbs on the ground too.

The path must have had some imperceptible angle to it, reasoned Squirtle, as the boulder's course altered toward the path's exterior. Squirtle twitched his muscles and tumbled left toward Bein and the cliffside. His shell clattered against the rocks.

He recovered and locked his eyes on the boulder again just in time to see it slam into Quil. He'd had nowhere to dodge except the empty space off the cliff. He'd chosen instead to stay on the path. Quil and the boulder both shot off the edge of the switchback where it bent back upon itself, and plunged toward the rocky mountainside out of view and far below.

“Quil!” shouted Squirtle, reaching forth his claws as if to latch onto Quil's forelimb. The scene from his nightmare flashed in his mind's eye. The portion of the switchback they had ascended to was at least thirty feet higher than where Quil and the boulder would have landed. Squirtle had to follow after them. How would his Squirtle body fare with a fall of thirty feet though?

Bein made a warning noise and Squirtle returned his attention to the path. The Cubone settled into a crouch. His bone was clutched tightly in his left hand, though he let the other end rest against the dusty ground. A rock about Squirtle's size with two arms and hands curled into fists came toward them from up the path, the same direction from which the boulder had approached. It was floating a foot off the ground, and bore eyes and a mouth set in an expression of combat readiness. Only Pokémon had faces. Squirtle had a vague recollection about a Pokémon like this one, though he did not know the species name.

What about Quil? He had to know if Quil was alright. Investigating would mean leaving Bein with this hostile wild. That was unacceptable. Now was the time to fight. Speed was of utmost importance. What was the fastest way to decide this battle?

Calculations. Bein, current evidence points to strong melee offensive. Enemy too far for his immediate engagement. Wait: enemy almost definitely vulnerable to water. Still, enemy too far for guaranteed accuracy with Water Gun. Need to close the distance, quick!

His eyes jumped to Bein. “Throw me!”

He dashed to Bein, grabbing the other end of the bone with one hand then lying down to give Bein an easier time of hefting his body. Immediately, he felt foolish. Squirtle was physically larger than the Cubone, and he expected to be tossed with ease?

Bein looked at Squirtle as if struck dumb. He made no move to follow the command. Squirtle broke eye contact, feeling absolutely inane. As an afterthought, he withdrew into his shell, still clutching the bone with one hand. Maybe that would give him better aerodynamics, or help Bein out somehow. What an idiot he was. He released the bone, and prepared to emerge out of his shell and attack the wild Pokémon in a less ridiculous manner.

The bone began to move just as Squirtle released it. He hastily took hold once again, staying firmly in his shell. His narrow view of the outside began to shift sideways, faster and faster. He squeezed the bone tighter. His weight was being pulled away by what felt like centripetal force. Bein must have been spinning in place, rotating Squirtle faster and faster around his body.

His grip was slipping. He extended his arms out of his shell to grab the bone with both hands. Still, the force was incredible. From the rotational motion alone, his tail and legs were nearly pulled out of his shell. By contrast, his head was pressed into his chest. If blood was what flowed through his Squirtle body, then its circulation was definitely being disturbed by the force. He had to let go! But he had to let go at the right time in order to be sent toward the enemy.

Bein decided for him. Abruptly the force was gone. Squirtle was a projectile, soaring through the air faster than he had ever moved. He still gripped the bone with two hands, so Bein must have released it. The other end whistled in the wind.

Squirtle's field of view was too narrow. It was impossible to see where he was going. He popped his head out along with the rest of his limbs. The eyes of the rock's face grew wide. Squirtle oriented as best as he could in flight before impact.

THONK! went Squirtle's shell as he plowed into his opponent. The bone was torn from his grasp, which was just as well, as Squirtle grabbed the rock Pokémon with all four limbs. Even his tail curled below the rock to help grip. He felt like a bloodsucking monster stuck to the Pokémon's face as they both went crashing backward with Squirtle's momentum. The dust plume created by the rolling boulder had scarcely dissipated when a new one was created by their sliding and tumbling up the next portion of the switchback.

A couple of seconds later, when Squirtle could think again, he remembered his initial plan, and thus his next action. Water was squeezed into his throat, and he contracted all the right muscles for an immediate, full-blast, violent stream of water to erupt from his mouth. There was no need to spend time or effort on narrowing or aiming the blast. His mouth was an inch from his opponent.

The reactionary force of the Water Gun was too powerful for Squirtle to maintain his death-grip on the wild Pokémon. He separated from his foe like a rocket, yet remained connected by the raging water stream. Squirtle terminated the flow as he rotated out of control somewhere in the air above his opponent. After a moment, he met the ground with a crash. He was completely disoriented after all the stopping, starting, and spinning.

He reasoned that he was on his shell-back, as Bein came into view by occluding a portion of the sky. He offered Squirtle his left hand. After being pulled to his feet, he located the wild Pokémon. With its eyes and mouth closed, it looked much like an inanimate rock with arms. It could have been a twisted sculptor's work of art.

The Pokémon was no doubt senseless. Its main body was completely soaked. Squirtle's water was forming a little puddle on the dusty path beneath it. The little cracks and imperfections in the Pokémon's exterior were damp with water that had seeped in. Like erosion in miniature, the water looked to be exacerbating the flaws, and disrupting the structure of the Pokémon's surface.

The enemy was definitely no longer a threat. That meant something, something important. Then Squirtle remembered. He jogged woozily toward the edge of the switchback where Quil and the boulder had gone over. His equilibrium was quickly coming under his control, and he was battle-ready once more.

The encounter with the floating rock Pokémon reminded Squirtle that appearances were deceiving. Quil was on fire, but suffered no harm. A Scyther had wings, but appeared unable to truly fly. Rocks and boulders were often inanimate objects, but they didn't have to be. Quil could be in serious trouble, and not only from the strike and the fall. Squirtle had no time to lose.

“I'm going after him!” he called over his shell-back to Bein and hoping that he was heard. Taking the switchback down would be safer but much too slow. Thinking of a better idea than what he was about to do would also be safer, but much too slow.

Squirtle ran. The precipice approached. Beyond was the open air, and the mountainside's barren gray landscape of rock far below. Squirtle did not slow.

Attempting to follow Quil's trajectory as close as he could, Squirtle executed a running dive off the edge of the switchback. Giddy terror replaced all previous thoughts. His heart felt like it had leaped into his throat.

All the while, he plummeted.


	19. Sympathy

The brisk mountain air rushed past Squirtle's face as he dove toward the mountainside where he hoped to find Quil. A flash of midnight blue in a wash of grays. Quil's back! The fire was extinguished, though – a bad sign.

Squirtle tried to reign in his terror at the free fall by whipping up the semblance of a plan. Hitting the rocky ground at full speed would be less than wise. He had nothing to land on, no equipment to stop his descent, no means of slowing down...scratch that.

Halfway to the ground, or about a second and a half of air time, he blasted out a Water Gun in a general downward direction as fast as he could. His orientation was thankfully correct to prevent immediate rotation, as he had dived face-first. The water sprinkled the rocks below in patternless chaos. The concentration of the stream was unimportant to Squirtle though. Only the amount of water he propelled away from himself mattered.

While he certainly could tell his Water Gun was slowing his fall, the pull of gravity was far mightier than any force he could produce. He was going to hit the ground very quickly in a split second. As a last-ditch effort, Squirtle pulled into his shell and tried to brace. He'd rather the rocks strike his shell than his skin, as long as he didn't crack open like an egg.

Too late. He'd barely retracted when he slammed into the ground like a meteorite, annulling his attempt to brace. If it weren't for the rigid shell that covered his chest, Squirtle was sure he would have had the wind knocked out of him for a good while. As it was, his vision and hearing were briefly overwhelmed by the spike in pressure caused by the impact. He must have bounced, because another, lesser impact rattled his senses again. After a bit more jostling, he rested motionless.

Emerging from his shell, he took a moment to recuperate and take stock of the damage. Nothing felt broken or in pain. His senses were returning to normal. His shell felt intact, but he guessed it was very scratched up. Yet despite the adrenaline, or whatever gave Pokémon that energy rush, his body felt sluggish. The fall had taken a hefty chunk of his energy, as if he'd been Tackled by the ground. Which, in a sense, he had.

Quil was certainly unconscious, as he did not move a muscle in response to Squirtle's arrival. The boulder that had struck him now stood on short legs of rock next to the Cyndaquil. It possessed four, three-fingered arms made of the same rock that composed all of its body. One of its lower pair of arms was prodding Quil, and the creature's face wore an expression of amused satisfaction. Squirtle's theory had been correct: the boulder was a Pokémon. A Pokémon that had knocked his friend off a cliff.

Squirtle yelled an angry snarl as he darted over the rough terrain toward the Pokémon. There was no path here to provide easy movement, but maybe that would work in his favor. His thoughts were pushed aside as he allowed his battle spirit to take over. He almost leaped into the air to execute a flying Tackle against the boulder Pokémon, but maintained enough sense to put his effort and emotion toward speedily approaching on foot instead. He'd be an easy target in the air.

The boulder Pokémon, having noticed his noisy approach, responded by snatching up nearby rocks with all four arms. Each hand held as big a rock as could fit in the Pokémon's hands. It tossed the rocks toward Squirtle.

He used his anger to fuel his speed as he tried to dodge around each of the missiles. Four was too many to accurately predict all at once, so Squirtle was struck by two of the rocks. One scraped against the top of his shell while the other bit into his brow.

The attack pushed Squirtle closer to collapse, but he wasn't about to give up his offensive after being hit by a single move. He finished his approach and let loose his Water Gun right into the face of his large target. His opponent didn't even try to move out of the way, but took the attack full-on. When Squirtle could keep up the technique no longer, the boulder Pokémon roared in defiance while rivulets of water ran to its underside.

Squirtle, suspecting a counterattack, looked for the largest nearby rock and ran toward it. The rock he chose was a boulder rivaling his opponent's size. There were many like it in the gray landscape.

The boulder Pokémon reached its two lower arms forward and pulled its body into a roll. Its legs and all its arms tucked perfectly against its body as it rapidly gained speed. The Pokémon bounced and rolled over the uneven ground toward Squirtle.

He wasted no time in circling around the edge of his chosen boulder to its back. His opponent did not seem able to follow Squirtle around the boulder in time, or to effectively change its course on the fly. The rugged battlefield had worked in Squirtle's favor. With a resounding CRACK, a vertical fissure surrounded by spiderwebbing chinks appeared in the boulder after being hit by the Pokémon's attack.

By the time the Pokémon's arms and legs were uncurling from its main bulk, Squirtle had scaled the split boulder and taken a stable stance. Another Water Gun streamed down at the rock Pokémon. Again it roared, this time sounding very muffled. Some distant portion of Squirtle's brain guessed that its face was pressed against the earth.

It hastily rolled itself to its feet and glared at Squirtle for a mere second before squatting down on its thick-set legs. The Pokémon looked about to heave itself into the air. Just before doing so, its eyes flicked to the side.

Following a short battle-cry, Bein completed his dash with a powerful two-handed swing of his bone into the boulder Pokémon's bulk. The swing reminded Squirtle of a motion he used to see in some sporting competition in his past life, but he didn't try to pin down what it was in the heat of battle.

The Pokémon's roar weakened to a feeble cry as it toppled off its feet. If the Pokémon had a body with a dedicated 'side', Squirtle guessed it surely would have fallen onto it. As it was, the Pokémon rested on the portion of its body right next to its feet, while its two legs hung limply in the air.

Squirtle, seeing the fight concluded, rose from his hands and placed one on his chest to try steadying his heavy breathing. In hindsight, it was surprising both that Bein's bone had not snapped with the blow, and that the attack had been enough to exhaust their foe. Surely there was more to the bone than met the eye. Was Bein's helmet similarly special, or was it merely a skull?

The boulder Pokémon's eyes slowly wandered about, first looking at Squirtle, then Bein, then at nothing in particular. Its fingers and toes twitched every now and then. The Pokémon was still conscious, but definitely incapable of doing any more harm. Bein walked calmly to its front so that they could see each other's face. He twirled his bone and pounded its butt against the ground before giving the fallen Pokémon a half-bow. A repeat of his actions following the fight against the Electrike. The boulder Pokémon blinked its sturdy eyelids seemingly in comprehension. Or maybe because it was dazed beyond any understanding.

Squirtle watched the proceedings with curiosity. Bein switched his gaze to Squirtle, and his face, though hard to read, looked almost incredulous.

“Oh,” Squirtle mumbled, and descended the split boulder to stand by his fallen foe's face. Without a waist, Squirtle could not bow, so he settled for inclining his head briefly. Bein looked satisfied by this, but also confused.

If this odd show of respect is an instinctual drive, it's one that doesn't exist in my new body. Must be cultural. Strange how it persists in the wild, too. He glanced over at Quil's still-motionless body. I'll call myself a Bulbasaur before I say that this rock of a Pokémon deserves my respect. He knocked Quil off the cliff!

He wondered what Quil would think about the situation. To his consternation, he could imagine Quil saying something like: 'That Pokémon behaved perfectly normally, and I don't really fault it for attacking me. When we attacked that Tauros a couple of days ago for training, do you think it considered us to be bad Pokémon? Do you think it's planning revenge?'

Living as a Pokémon was all about violence and self-improvement. The boulder Pokémon might have used a shocking and even under-handed method as its battle plan, but that was probably its nature. Squirtle would be wrong to punish it beyond reasonable force for what it had done. He frowned, wondering how such a strange culture could make logical sense. It did, didn't it?

He sighed, putting aside his ruminations. He walked over to Quil, gently nudging him and speaking his name. Quil groaned very quietly, and shifted slightly. Squirtle was encouraged by the response, and began to renew his efforts, but Bein raised his bone between them.

“I wouldn't. Let him rest. Better for him.”

Squirtle saw no sign of deception, and certainly couldn't think of a nefarious motive, so he nodded and left Quil alone. He slumped to his belly tiredly.

“Thanks again Bein. Right in the nick of time as usual.”

“Heh. Your water did more than my Bone Club. Believe me, I saw it all. I only landed the finishing blow.”

Warmth flooded Squirtle at the indirect praise. There was something pleasing on a primal level about having one's battling skill complimented. Assuming Quil inflicted no damage on the boulder Pokémon, Squirtle had almost single-handedly defeated not only this wild Pokémon, but the floating rock Pokémon a minute or two prior. His improvement was measurable, and that knowledge felt wonderful.

“I don't understand one thing. Our opponent, that boulder Pokémon--”

“Graveler,” interjected Bein.

“Ah. That Graveler was literally made of rock, but your strike with the bone finished it off easily. Why is that? Just hitting a bone against a rock doesn't seem--”

“First of all,” Bein interrupted with anger flashing in his eyes and an even rougher tone of voice than normal, “this isn't a bone. It's the lower right humerus of a Machamp. It's the bone of a fully evolved Fighter, and the core of the Pokémon's dominant striking arm. That means, in words you would understand, it is strong. In words that you wouldn't, the compact bone of the cortical layer has almost perfect ductility, resilience, and other material properties to make it stable while maintaining some flexibility. As an all-purpose tool, this bone is one of the better bones out there. That's not even going into the properties of the marrow or epiphyses.”

Bein paused, and he must have seen something in Squirtle's face that caused him to calm down. He eyed the long bone he held with expert ease. “Can't dismiss this as 'a bone'. Much more to it.”

Squirtle swallowed. “I apologize. I didn't...you know a lot about bones.”

“My kind are called Cu-bone.” For emphasis, he flicked the bone into a complete rotation and caught it again without looking. “Back to your question. Type advantage. The Graveler was obviously resistant to physical moves. I still hit it, not only because all of my attacks are like that, but because Ground beats Rock.”

“Er, bones have Ground typing?”

“Bones are excavated from the earth,” Bein retorted. “They're inherently connected to the ground. And I've practiced my Bone Club technique so when I correctly wield a bone, I can bring out my Ground element.”

“I see. I didn't even know Rock was weak to Ground.”

“Don't blame you. Most 'mon only know their own elemental strengths and weaknesses. If that.”

Squirtle was sorely tempted by his curiosity to inquire about the nature of Bein's skull helmet, but worried that it was too personal of a question. Having Bein blow up again was a strong deterrent.

Quil did not show signs of waking up, even though Squirtle trusted Bein's opinion that he was recovering just fine. Since Bein expressed agitation at the proposal of waiting around until Quil awoke and could walk unassisted, Squirtle tentatively suggested they carry him and be on their merry way. The issue was that he had no idea how they would carry Quil, what with the shape of their bodies. Their arms were too short for them to dream of encircling another Pokémon. Quil was unconscious and could not hold onto anything. Bein gave it some thought too, and suggested what Squirtle thought was a ridiculous idea.

“I'll be fine,” the Cubone said. “Much stronger than I look. I build, remember? Not easy work.”

Squirtle tried again to sway Bein's stubborn belief. “Okay, but will you be able to balance?”

In answer, Bein growled. It was as coarse as his speaking voice, and carried a message of frustration as opposed to malice. Squirtle understood the meaning on a level below linguistic processing. His brain simply knew the growl's intent. He submitted to Bein's idea, even though he doubted it would work.

Five minutes later, Bein walked steadily up the switchback's path. He was moving a little slower than his previous hike up the cliffside, but it was still a respectable pace.

Squirtle lay belly-down on top of his skull helmet. He faced backward so that he could awkwardly grip the bony rear horns of the helmet to hold his position atop Bein's head. He also used the horns to make slight alterations to his body's orientation so that the load on top of his shell did not slip off.

Quil flopped senseless on top of Squirtle's shell. His limbs had been splayed around the curves of Squirtle's shell so that he self-stabilized to a degree by way of friction. Every time his center of gravity slid away from the center of Squirtle's shell-back, Squirtle would lean the correct way to slide Quil back to the center position. By Squirtle and Bein's efforts, Quil was carried up the path toward Cavetown.

“There are so many reasons why this shouldn't work,” Squirtle sighed.

Bein grunted.

* * *

When Quil came to and felt steady enough to walk, Bein let them down. Squirtle asked Quil a barrage of questions: How many fingers am I holding up? Do you feel any broken bones? Any internal injuries? Quil's reply to his questioning was that he felt whole but tired, like every other battle he'd ever lost. In fact he found Squirtle's questions to be puzzling, which Squirtle in turn found puzzling.

Even more evidence that Pokémon were durable beyond any reasonable expectation. Quil had been impacted by a boulder-Pokémon rolling at least forty miles per hour, Squirtle had fallen about thirty feet, and Bein had walked with approximately twice his body weight atop his head. Now here they all were, perfectly healthy and ready for more.

What would it take to push a Pokémon's limits? If a Pidgeot flew Squirtle up to the clouds and dropped him, would he wake up after a long nap and wonder what was for dinner? If a hundred Charizard breathed flame onto a Caterpie, would the Caterpie survive? All evidence thus far pointed to a full recovery. While Squirtle remained curious, he decided that he might not want to learn the answer.

After thinking such thoughts, a worry grew in Squirtle's head that he could not ignore. He asked Quil and Bein to take a look at this shell and relay how damaged it was. Neither of them appeared to find the request strange, and they reported a few scratches along with one pronounced dent. Squirtle found the information slightly troubling. He resolved to avoid damaging his shell further if it was in his power to do so. He felt like a neglectful parent, even though he strongly suspected his emotions were a manifestation of his instincts as a Squirtle. The hypothesis did not frighten him as it once had.

The path curved and pointed straight toward the current mountain peak. No patches of snow had been reached yet, but they were fairly close to the snow line. The slopes became steeper and more bare. Loose rock grew more difficult to find, and it was smaller when they came across it. After a few hours of rockslide scrambling, switchback hiking, and cliff path traversals, the three travelers reached their destination at long last. The path's direction changed from pointing up the mountain, to into the mountain. 

The natural formation before them was indisputably the entrance to Cavetown. A humongous cave mouth opened into the mountain's interior like the perpetually gaping jaws of a Gyarados. The darkness within the mouth stretched not only backward, but downward as well. The mountain's throat.

The entrance before them may have been the main entrance to Cavetown, but evidently there were others. Flying-type Pokémon like Pidgeotto, Pidove, or Pelipper could be seen both entering and leaving by some other opening a little ways around the curve of the mountain. Most were laden with cargo that Squirtle judged too heavy to lift during flight, until he recalled the almost physics-shattering physical capabilities of all Pokémon.

Some twenty or thirty Pokémon loitered around the cavernous entrance, all waiting in some form. From the species that Squirtle could identify, a pair of Croconaw sat on their tails playing some simple game on the ground with stones arranged in a grid. A Delibird pulled something shiny from its hollow tail to show to a small gathering of Togepi and Skitty, who gasped and giggled in wonder and delight. Most of the other Pokémon, like a Crustle and Noibat, watched the path as it crested into view of the entrance. When Squirtle's group appeared, expressions of disappointment came onto the faces of these watching and waiting Pokémon.

Notably, at the front and center of the entrance, a Donphan stood watching the path like a gatekeeper. Upon seeing the three travelers, a slight smile grew between its small tusks and it approached them on its stout legs.

“Welcome to Cavetown. Are you looking for refuge, and where are you coming from?” Her voice was extremely nasal. It resonated in her armored trunk to a degree that Squirtle found humorous, even though Quil and Bein showed no amusement. The Donphan sounded sincere, but it was obvious from the way her words flowed that she'd given that same introduction countless times.

“Us two are not,” said Squirtle with a gesture at Quil. “We're travelers hoping to explore your town and maybe meet some Pokémon. We probably won't stay long.”

“Guess I'm technically a refugee,” Bein added. “Seen lots of 'mon heading this way. What's the living situation look like down there? Looking to help build or dig.”

The Donphan's trunk uncurled as she joyously trumpeted. “Wonderful! Yes, we can use all the help that is offered, Cubone. There's probably not enough space. Hard to judge the exact state of Cavetown with all the traffic. The habitation caverns are getting packed, so you'll easily find places to get to work.”

She addressed Squirtle and Quil next. “While Cavetown will not turn away any 'mon, we highly encourage each one to contribute as best as they can. Squirtle, maybe you could help mine new tunnels or caverns with your water, and Cyndaquil, maybe you could assist in the kitchens with your fire. There are plenty of tasks that need doing, you'll find one if you look. Please stay as long as you'd like, but do not take advantage of those who make Cavetown their home. We extend our hospitality and friendship to all who have come from afar, but we hope they'll contribute as they can too.”

“We'll help out as best as we can!” said Quil, nodding his head vehemently.

He so reflexively wants to pay back their kindness, thought Squirtle. Nothing we can do will really help this disaster though. Helping out in Cavetown is merely palliative. Taking back the homes of these Pokémon, now that's being helpful.

He struggled to smile in gratitude at the Donphan. I hope spending some time here will elucidate some means to actually make a difference for these Pokémon.

“Enjoy Cavetown. We asked a Smeargle this morning to make up some signs for directions, so hopefully you'll be able to find your way around down there. Don't get disoriented in the crowd!” The Donphan waved them in with her trunk.

After saying their thanks, the three passed through the gargantuan jaws of the cave mouth. The ground had been smoothed by thousands of footsteps, and Squirtle's bare feet appreciated the change to gentle terrain. In seconds, they were walking at a steep downhill. Multiple sets of rough-hewn steps led down the vast tunnel, some with small steps and others with huge intervals meant for larger Pokémon. Using any of the stairs was optional, as part of the tunnel floor was a smooth slope. The whole arrangement was haphazard and imprecise. The staircases even crossed over at points, or faded into the floor before popping up again later. This organic, impromptu nature of design persisted as they ventured further into Cavetown.

Illumination was provided by the white glow of luminescent fungi growing upside-down from the ceilings and upper walls of the tunnels and caverns. Some tunnels featured massive mushrooms, but others had little more than a surface sheen of glowing growth. The amount of pure white light shed by the growth was fascinating to Squirtle. His eyes still needed to adjust to the dimmer light level, especially because every surface was black rock.

Pokémon were everywhere. More than Squirtle had ever seen, even in Swanna's lodge at Karprest. The diversity was as astonishing as the quantity. Rock-types and Ground-types were in abundance, but plenty of Pokémon traversed the tunnels that stood out like sore thumbs. No way a Politoed belonged in the heart of a mountain, and a Dodrio looked woefully out of place on legs meant for striding across open ranges. Squirtle frequently had to make way along with other small Pokémon, as large ones passed by. An Onix snaked by at one point which had Squirtle hugging the wall to make room. Airborne Pokémon like Zubat and Combee frequently zipped over the heads of ground-bound Pokémon.

Squirtle kept an eye out for Electric-types but found none. Of course, if he were one, he wouldn't head to Cavetown. He imagined the reception would become a battlefield, as any refugee would feel personally wronged by any who bore the Electric typing. If for some reason he did head into Cavetown as an Electric-type, he'd be sure to stay out of sight by keeping within the more insular caverns.

Best as Squirtle could tell, the general mood of Cavetown was bustling and hectic. Pokémon did not drag their feet here, if they had them. The snippets of conversation that Squirtle caught were terse, focused on the work that needed to be done and issues that had to be resolved. Expressions were troubled, preoccupied, or masks of hard determination. Cavetown was not a den of merrymaking, but a struggling hub of activity.

The deeper they went, the more side-tunnels they passed that led to caverns large and small. The tunnel they traveled curved this way and that, going steeply downward, then flat for a time, then downward again with an upward bump. The creators of Cavetown, it seemed, did not have an organized lay-out as one of their goals. The tunnel they traveled felt just as important as any of the side-tunnels after a couple of minutes of walking. Squirtle understood why a Smeargle had been asked to make signs for directions.

In fact, they encountered said Smeargle in the act. It was working on painting symbols onto a signboard of wood using the green paint-like secretion from its tail. Another Donphan, this one with larger tusks, carried a large stack of blank signboards with its trunk and tusks. A little bucket hung from its left tusk, and jingled with a metallic sound when it moved.

Squirtle inspected the signboard, and found to his great surprise that he could read it, albeit slowly. The symbols were the same blocky letters that he'd seen labeling the display cases in Wartortle's Seed Nursery. Each letter resembled an Unown.

“U-script,” said Bein, seeing Squirtle's mouth drop open. “I can read it. Can you?”

“Yes, I can! It says to go this way for the...Diner, and...Kitchen!” Some letters like the 'H' were strangely shaped, but most were simple to read, like the 'N'. Squirtle felt very happy indeed that he was able to employ a skill from his past life in this new world.

“I was never taught, but I think I can read easy words,” Quil admitted diffidently.

“Not like reading is an essential skill. That's what the picture's for.” Bein pointed his bone at the neat illustration above the letters. The Smeargle had drawn an apple too, for the illiterate.

“Want to take a look?” asked Quil.

Squirtle and Bein agreed they could all use a bite to eat, and set off down a new tunnel in the direction the sign had pointed. The sound of a nail being pounded into rock echoed from the Smeargle behind them, or at least somewhere in that vicinity. The acoustics in Cavetown certainly took some getting used to. Sounds came from everywhere, so unless Squirtle could visually see the source of a sound, he often mistook the direction of its origin. He tried to stop caring about where sounds were coming from, but the effect continued to irritate him.

Signs had been erected at most tunnel junctions the further into Cavetown they went, so following the correct route to the kitchen and diner was easy enough. The way grew correspondingly more crowded. Squirtle imagined himself as a hulking Blastoise, easily pushing through the crowd like a ship's bow piercing an ocean swell. The fact remained that he, Quil, and Bein were some of the smallest Pokémon around. The Pokémon they passed didn't show any disrespect or disregard for individuals smaller than them, but physical size nonetheless made a difference in who received the right of way.

The three passed a short connecting tunnel that opened into a truly huge cavern. This tunnel had the largest amount of traffic they'd yet seen, and given the size of the cavern, it was probably a popular location. Squirtle wondered at the cavern's purpose in Cavetown, but was more taken aback by how big the cavern was. The opposite wall was hundreds of feet away.

Bein gave a single, short laugh. “Heartless Heights.” Squirtle and Quil turned to him, and he explained. “Get it? These mountains are hollowed out by caverns both natural and Pokémon-made. They have no center, no core. The heights are heartless.”

Quil chuckled at the cleverness of the name, as the signs led them past the packed side tunnel and down a less crowded 'corridor' of rock. The tunnel curved to the right, while at regular intervals, offshoots of the tunnel led to small caverns. Each was the size of two or three rooms: a small house. Signs indicated the first few offshoots as 'Habitation Cavern Wing L', and after a staircase leading to a level below, another sign indicated more offshoots as 'Habitation Cavern Wing M'. The trend continued, and Squirtle concluded they had reached a residential area.

In the relative quiet of these tunnels, the three took a more leisurely pace to peek inside. Each seemed to have a theme, or habitat. The first featured a shallow pool of gritty water. The gray color made the water unappetizing. Nonetheless, a Vaporeon, Mudkip, Froakie, and a couple of other Water-types that Squirtle could not identify lounged or idly floated in the waters. The Mudkip glanced at the three passers-by disinterestedly, while the others maintained unfocused stares.

“I miss my friends. I miss the shiny river stones right below the surface of the tributary,” said the Froakie sullenly. A Frogadier from the edge of the cavern joined her at the pool.

“We'll return to Lofty Lake soon, Rowa. We have to stay in Cavetown for a little while longer though, okay? Think of this as a vacation.”

The Froakie did not respond. Squirtle, Quil, and Bein moved on, likewise saying nothing.

The next cavern was completely dark inside. Whatever Pokémon lived inside must have removed the bioluminescent fungi, plunging the room into darkness.

“Must be Pokémon who like total darkness, right?” Squirtle whispered, so as to not disturb the inhabitants of the cavern.

Bein agreed. “Mm. Best leave them be.” Again, they moved on.

At the next cavern, Squirtle noticed a change in Quil. The reason was clear. This cavern was littered with grass. The pale brown color indicated that it was dead, and had been for a long time. Even the substantial amount of grass was not nearly enough to cover the black rock of the floor. If the blades of grass were supposed to simulate a grassland environment, Squirtle judged they were doing a shoddy job.

An Oddish nudged some of the dead grass with a foot as it looked glumly down at the ground. It didn't appear to notice the onlookers. A Chikorita rested with its eyes open on a collected pile of grass. Even with all the grass beneath the Chikorita, the pile was woefully inadequate for support. It did not supply even two inches of cushioning from the unforgiving black rock beneath. A trio of Deerling could be seen having a subdued conversation near the back of the cavern. Whatever the topic, Squirtle noticed it was not one that brought smiles to their faces.

He glanced at Quil, and could tell through posture that his friend was affected by the misery to which they were bearing witness. Quil spoke quietly.

“This could have been me. Oddish, Chikorita, Deerling, they're all familiar species where I live. If I hadn't been sent on my Pilgrimage to Iyrodenin, maybe I would have ended up in a place like this, far from home.” He laughed once, mirthlessly. “My carefree and steady life taken from me just the same as if I'd left home.”

While Quil's reaction to the scene seemed to be commiseration, Squirtle felt a flare of anger on his behalf. These Pokémon had had their way of life taken from them, their world turned upside-down by Electric-types. The situation was wrong, so wrong.

“Let's get going,” he said. “The diner and kitchen should be up ahead.”

* * *

Signs directed them out of 'Habitation Cavern Wing N', but not before a commotion at the end of the wing drew their attention. New caverns were actively being hollowed out and shaped by a crew of Pokémon. Naturally, they were mostly Ground-types digging and mining away the rock. In accordance with the Donphan's suggestion to Squirtle, a couple of Water-types carved the rock using streams of water instead of claws and tools. Pokémon hauled away loose rock in carts, and used other construction devices to facilitate the excavataion that Squirtle couldn't name.

“Hydraulic mining,” said Bein with what seemed like a smile at Squirtle. He approached the workers with an appraising eye, and spoke briefly to one of the more vociferous diggers. When he quickly returned, explaining that he would join the miners' efforts later on, the three continued and finally arrived at the diner and kitchen.

The cavern was one of the larger ones they'd seen, though the ceiling was disproportionately low. As a result, the glowing fungi illuminated the room all the better. Tables filled the room, all covered in a disorderly array of plates and fare, and each at different heights. Some chairs were present, but most Pokémon ate standing or whatever passed for standing in those with odd body types. Utensils were absent, and some even ate without their hands.

After all, how would an Ekans grasp its meal?

The aroma of all the unknown but enticing dishes had Squirtle's mouth watering. The origin of the food was a set of apertures into an adjacent room, like serving windows. Flashes of fire and frenetic motion could be seen within, so Squirtle assumed that was the kitchen. Steam appeared to be pooling in the ceiling of the kitchen, but slowly draining into a hole that led upward. No doubt the room was still too stuffy for him to handle. The Donphan's suggestion for a Fire-type like Quil to help in the cooking suddenly took on a new level of sense.

“Amazing,” Bein commented as they took spots in a short line leading to one of the serving windows. “So much food, company. Freely shared. No wonder Cavetown is where everyone's going.”

Finding a free table took all of a minute. Squirtle examined the food he'd been served by a distracted Pansear. He was at a complete loss as to what ingredients were incorporated, though by structure alone, the main dish appeared to be a casserole. If his body could handle being beat up in a hundred ways, surely it could handle exotic and new foods. A single bite relieved him of his worry, as the food was delicious. He spent a few minutes simply isolating each individual flavor in his mouth to appreciate it. His eyes became half-lidded, and a complacent smile stole onto his face.

Quil was unusually taciturn. Squirtle fancied he saw a brooding expression in the Cyndaquil's face. Squirtle had proof from the past that being around unfamiliar Pokémon was not bothersome to Quil, unless they were Electric-types, so he knew that was not the cause. Maybe he was still upset at the fate of the Pokémon in the room of dead grass. Squirtle almost allowed himself to fall into anger and discontentment as he pictured the room, but made a conscious decision to relax and enjoy their arrival in Cavetown.

After the casserole-like dish, Squirtle took the second and last food item from his plate in hand: a kebab of fruits, and possibly vegetables. Telling the difference was an impossible challenge. He took a bite from a plump but tough berry of some kind, but decided that it was too raw to enjoy properly. With spontaneous abandon, he leaned away from the table to clandestinely roast the berry over Quil's flames. His friend appeared oblivious, which was all the better, as Squirtle feared what his reaction would be to being treated as a living barbecue.

A shifty-looking Pokémon with gemstones for eyes noticed, however, and mimicked Squirtle's action with its own kebab. It grinned, revealing sharp teeth. Squirtle wagered the smile was intended to be one of shared amusement, but it came off as disturbing. He smiled back dutifully, before breaking 'eye' contact and focusing on the cooking berry. Another chomp assured him that he'd made the correct culinary judgment; the berry's taste had improved.

Bein, who had been quickly and methodically consuming his portion, stood up from the chair he'd snagged. His plate bore only crumbs now.

“Leaving you now. Time to lend my skills where they're needed. It's why I came here.”

Squirtle and Quil set down their food. Squirtle had known this was coming, but Bein's departure still saddened him. Plus, he was a Ground-type, and Squirtle knew he'd feel less safe outside of Cavetown without Bein around.

“I wish you luck with your efforts here, Bein, and wherever you go next.”

“Thanks for traveling with us Bein,” added Quil. “If you, er, want to come with us on our next adventure, you're always welcome!” Once again, he sounded embarrassed about the topic.

Bein regarded them for a moment. The skull helmet made his expression nigh indecipherable. Then he nodded seriously. “Thanks. Fight well. I mean that. Your efforts out there will affect those in here.” He gestured broadly at all the Pokémon in Cavetown.

Squirtle swallowed nervously as an intangible weight settled onto the top of his shell. Responsibility, importance. Bein appeared to notice, and perhaps that observation was what made him linger at their table for a few seconds longer. Yet he said nothing. He left the table without another word. The assortment of Pokémon in the diner swallowed up view of Bein's small form in seconds.

Squirtle raised the kebab again, but his appetite was gone. Bein's departure was a reality check. Quil and Squirtle were two Pokémon among hundreds in a sprawling cave complex. What was their next move?


	20. Guidance

Cavetown's diner was in constant animation as Pokémon came in for a meal or left with their bellies full. Squirtle did not know whether or not settlement-dwelling Pokémon ate at scheduled times, but the constant and regular inflow and outflow of Pokémon pointed to spontaneous meals.

Simple, to eat when hungry, he thought. A Munchlax at the far end of Squirtle's table returned with a fresh plate of food. For some, I guess that's all the time.

The table was abruptly jostled by some blow. A pair of voices rose above the low babble of conversation in the diner. While not angry or hateful, the voices held a note of prideful challenge.

“...could beat you today, tomorrow, or a year from now! Say the time, name the place, and I'll prove it to you!” The speaker was a hulking, bipedal Pokémon with yellow flaps like a skirt. Its voice marked it as female. Squirtle wracked his mind for a moment, prompting one of his context-less memories to come to him. The species was named Hariyama.

The other Pokémon lowered his cream-colored front paws to the floor with a growl, followed by a curt sentence: “Now is the best time.” He met the Hariyama's challenge with bright eyes. His red pupils matched the inside of his pointed ears. The back of his head and rear ignited. Spiky flames erupted. He was a Quilava. Quil's evolution.

The diner's onlookers in the vicinity pushed the nearest tables away with scraping and clattering sounds. Squirtle assisted the effort before joining the loose ring around the Hariyama and Quilava. Quil found a spot right next to him. He certainly seemed interested in the duel. Squirtle was more interested in the practiced and instantaneous reaction all the other Pokémon had. No one appeared surprised or discomfited by the impending violence. No one attempted to break up the fight, or flee the scene. In fact, the diners were excited and interested. Some chattered to each other with pointed appendages and knowing expressions of self-satisfied wisdom. Others grinned in anticipation, or at the very least, gave the Hariyama and Quilava their full attention.

The Hariyama hurled herself forward and thrust an open-palmed arm at the Quilava's face. The attack made firm contact, but the Hariyama did not stop. She withdrew her arm, rocketing it forward once more almost faster than Squirtle's eye could follow. Another solid hit. The Quilava tried to dodge the third one, but the Hariyama's accuracy was on point, and her huge orange palms made contact. The Quilava finally managed to dodge the fourth attack.

A cluster of bright embers flurried out of the Quilava's mouth toward his foe. Squirtle had been anticipating any Fire attack from the Quilava to be much more impressive than anything Quil had produced, but he was surprised. The Ember technique appeared indistinguishable from the last one he'd seen Quil perform. The duel's fast pace did not wait for him to think about the consequences of that comparison, as the Hariyama stepped backward while ineffectually batting at the embers. The ones that reached her ignited into intense but fleeting fires.

Some of the embers naturally made it to the circle of onlookers, due to the confined indoor environment. A Delcatty along with a couple of other fleet-footed Pokémon managed to dodge out of the way, but some, like a Bagon, stoically took the attack. The Bagon looked quite pleased with itself, too.

Are they trying to prove how tough they are? Or do they like to feel personally involved in the battle by taking hits from a stray attack or two?

The Hariyama was approaching for another close-ranged attack, but the Quilava fired himself from his legs to meet the Hariyama head-on. Before the Hariyama could execute any technique, the Quilava had violently slammed his front paws into the Hariyama's chest. The attack was very quick, and reminded Squirtle of what the Espeon had done during their battle. She had moved in the same manner. This must be the same technique.

As the Quilava drew back for his next attack, the Hariyama enclosed her arms around him even as she stumbled backward from the Quilava's blow. The crowd breathed a collective 'Oooh'. The Hariyama had the Quilava in a firm two-armed grip. He squirmed, and his fires flared with heat. Following a shout of surprise, the Hariyama maneuvered the Quilava's lengthy body behind her back and over her shoulder into a powerful throw.

The Quilava's flight was stopped abruptly by the nearest rock wall. He fell into the crowd below with a groan. Squirtle could see the heads of the Pokémon around him edging to the side to make room for the fallen Quilava. The Pokémon himself could not be seen.

The Hariyama laughed triumphantly, and shouted a battle-cry with her arms raised victoriously. Some of the Pokémon in the crowd joined in excitedly. They may have been cheering for the Hariyama since the beginning, but Squirtle guessed many of them were happy to see a spectacle no matter who won. The battle appeared decided, as the Quilava remained down and out of sight. He was a tall enough species that he would be seen, should he stand up to show he was ready to continue fighting.

“Aw,” Quil whined beside him. “He makes our entire line look bad!”

The Pokémon of the crowd near the fallen Quilava suddenly stepped aside to make an avenue back into the impromptu arena. A fiery glow from the Quilava outshone the glow of the wan bioluminescent lighting above as he threw himself headfirst into the ring using his front paws. Instead of continuing his bounding action toward the Hariyama, he exhaled flame onto the ground in front of his face. Before he could bash his nose against the rock, he tucked his head and rolled along the fiery ground down his neck, his back, and his rear. All the while, flame poured from his mouth. The spiky fires on the back of his head and rear joined in the spinning construct of flame. The Quilava rolled again, then again, gathering fire about his body as he gained speed.

“Flame Wheel,” breathed Quil. Admiration dripped from his voice.

The Hariyama thrust both hands out protectively to stop the living gyre of flame, but somehow the Quilava knew. He tilted left, avoiding the block, then made a sharp right to careen into the Hariyama's side. The orange and yellow fire coating the Quilava's body washed over his opponent with an audible sizzling. The crowd's volume raised dramatically in excitement.

The Hariyama toppled backward and bounced against the wall of Pokémon lining the ring. They stopped her momentum, though she made no attempt to stand back up. After a moment, she raised an arm up from her supine position, a pacifying gesture. Every Pokémon present fell silent to hear her speak.

“You win. I've had enough,” she said quietly.

As the crowd's cheering echoed off the walls of the diner, the Quilava rose to his legs. His natural fires extinguished in an instant, as if they'd been doused in an invisible splash of water. He walked to his opponent's side to offer a bow of his flexible body. The Hariyama tucked her chin in turn, from where she lay supine. The Quilava lent a paw to hoist her up.

The exultant expressions of the onlookers faded back to blankness, worry, or preoccupation as the distraction of the fight concluded. Murmurs of “good fight” came from about half the Pokémon in the crowd, before they lugged the tables back into position and dispersed to their meals. “Good fight,” Squirtle agreed. Some onlookers went up to the two combatants to offer words of congratulations or sympathy, but Squirtle was not so inclined. Quil, with his fire burning merrily at a height and intensity that Squirtle reckoned was slightly more elevated than the usual, went to speak with the Quilava.

The diner had already returned to normalcy. Clearly fights and challenges were neither unusual nor frowned upon in Cavetown. Or any other Pokémon settlement, for all Squirtle knew. He found himself biting into the last of his kebab, if only because of the elation of witnessing a fairly high-powered battle up close. After the last bite was swallowed, he saw that Quil was still speaking to the Quilava even after everyone else had lost interest. So he walked over to join his friend, with nothing better to do.

“Why do you have your back flames ignited?” the Quilava was asking, with seemingly genuine curiosity. Squirtle winced, as he recalled Quil blowing up at a similar implication he himself had made on the first day he met the Cyndaquil.

Quil drew himself more upright. “The idea was my father's suggestion, and I agree with him. He said keeping my back lit means I'm always ready to use Fire techniques if I'm attacked. The fire keeps my energy level elevated and my mood stable, instead of switching off and on, off and on. And--”

The Quilava interrupted him, not unkindly. “Isn't it difficult to always have them burning?”

“I...yes, it is. Especially when I first started. I don't think about it much any more since I'm so used to staying lit, even when I sleep.”

“You stay ignited while you sleep?” He looked at Squirtle, evidently noticing him for the first time and looking for shared incredulity or verification in Squirtle's face. Squirtle nodded, and tried to look as if he agreed that a Cyndaquil's being on fire while it slept was outlandish.

“Urgh, what I do isn't that crazy!” Quil protested. “The benefits my father had in mind make sense. Don't they?”

The Quilava looked to be holding back a laugh. Squirtle very much appreciated the Quilava's expressive eyes and ears. Unlike Quil's simpler face, Squirtle could read much from this Quilava. He ached momentarily for Quil to be as easy to read as the Quilava.

The Quilava calmed himself and said, “Sorry, I shouldn't be amused. Your father has some bright ideas. Typhlosion, correct? I almost feel jealous. I might start keeping my fires up!” His own fire spots hissed as he let off a set of smoke puffs from them, for effect.

Quil looked pleased by the Quilava's sentiments.

“I have no doubt that you'll be better off for the training regime,” the Quilava continued. “You'll need that edge, for the end of your Pilgrimage.” He smiled mysteriously.

“How did you know?” Squirtle gushed with surprise.

Quil chuckled knowingly, a counterpoint to Squirtle's shock. “A Cyndaquil like me in a place like this makes me a prime candidate for a Cyndaquil on his Pilgrimage. Right?”

The Quilava nodded. “Couldn't be anything else. Anyway, about what I mentioned earlier: I can't help you develop your Fire moveset, but I think you'd be able to grasp the trick behind the move I did in the middle of the battle. They call it Quick Attack, which works exactly how it sounds. Want to practice in the commons?”

To his credit, Quil thought for a moment and looked for Squirtle's blessing before agreeing, despite his obvious enthusiasm. Following some quick introductions amongst the three of them, and returning empty plates to the kitchen, they left the diner. The Quilava, who was named Cyndill, revealed that he was not a native 'Cavetowner', so they all followed the signs to the commons together. Its symbol on the wooden signboards was a stalactite.

Squirtle needed time to think of an agenda, so he tagged along while zoning out their conversation. Maybe Quil would cook up some ideas too. Squirtle didn't feel much pressure at the moment though. After traveling for days almost nonstop, he figured they'd earned a vacation. A minimum of an hour or two of not worrying. No Electric-types, no wild Pokémon, and no other glaring concerns. They had time to spare, perhaps to work on Quil's hydrophobia, or even to simply explore Cavetown. Bein's parting words still held a weight to them, but the draw of a short vacation was stronger.

Cyndill spoke of the reflexive nature of the 'Quick Attack', how sensing an opponent's incoming technique was the trigger to react. He spoke of releasing energy into movement like a spring being able to uncoil, and the devotion of effort to moving from one point to another as close to instantaneously as possible. Squirtle followed the terminology and the theory of the technique just fine, but could not see himself performing it with any success. Pokémon each had their own strengths and weaknesses, so maybe he was one that was not capable of learning the technique. Quil, on the other hand, nodded along and sounded like he already knew about the ideas explained, but had never given them a good think-over.

The signs conveyed them to the commons. The short tunnel branch they arrived at was the entrance to the humongous cavern Squirtle, Quil, and Bein had passed earlier on the way to the diner and kitchen. The magnitude of traffic passing in and out of the tunnel made it clear that this was the sole entrance and exit to the commons. Cyndill hesitated along with Squirtle and Quil before pressing into the flow of Pokémon heading into the cavern. A suggestion of claustrophobia pulsed in Squirtle's mind as he entered, caught between a Snorlax and Croagunk, but the passage was soon over.

Unlike most of the rest of Cavetown, this cavern's lighting originated from low on the walls, and even in clusters of large mushrooms on the ground. Fortunately, Pokémon had altruistically left the glowing fungi alone despite being within easy reach to destroy or steal. The result of this placement was that the ceiling of the cavern was a darkness that Squirtle's eyes could not pierce. The bioluminescent light reached only sixty feet or so up the walls of the cavern, so it appeared that the walls faded away into blackness.

The only visible features of the ceiling were the immense stalactites that had no doubt given reason for the commons' image on the Smeargle's signboards. The natural icicles of rock protruded downward into the soft light. Squirtle knew they had likely taken hundreds or thousands of years to 'grow'. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have feared them falling in the brief hours or days that he would remain in Cavetown. However, in the commons, he felt threatened by the imposing formations hanging from above, because some stalactites had already fallen. A few massive stalactites lay on their angled sides on the cavern floor. Cracks from some impact were evident at the fracture site of each of the stalactites. Squirtle could not imagine destruction of these majestic formations as being intentional. The commons must have seen some fierce battles in days past.

In the floor below some of the larger stalactites were a few pools of water, one being much larger than the rest. Pokémon, not all of them Water-types, relaxed at the poolsides. As Squirtle observed, a drop of water from one of the stalactites caught the light as it fell into the pool. The would-be serene sound of the drop finally reaching its pool was lost amid the conversations and movement of the Pokémon in the commons. Squirtle could see battling, conversation, resting, games and competitions, congregating Pokémon, solitary Pokémon, singing and dancing, and plenty of other activities that he could not entirely categorize.

Space was in excess. The cavern's immense size, with its far wall being more than three times the length of Blindhollow's crater, dwarfed even the horde of Pokémon. Cyndill led the way to a space for sparring, but Squirtle had his eyes set on the pools.

“Hey, I'll catch up with you two,” Squirtle said as he waved to the two Fire-types. “I'll be exploring this cavern a little, maybe have a swim.”

They waved back in return. With a tinge of either guilt or concern in his voice, Quil said, “Okay then, see you soon!”

Let the vacation begin, thought Squirtle with reserved joy. Separating from Quil made him cautious, uneasy, if only a smidgeon. He'd been at Quil's side for almost every single minute of the past week. Quil was still his lifeline even if that status had diminished from the desperate and disorienting circumstances of his first few hours as a Squirtle. While he had purpose now, a new set of memories, and new connections, Quil's friendship meant more to him than any of those things.

Head swiveling to watch all the Pokémon, he strolled toward the first pool, occupied only by a Floatzel. It floated on its back with its yellow floatation sac inflated. The base urge to envelop himself in the water began to fill Squirtle's mind. Closer up, he could see that a different type of fungus grew on the walls of the pool beneath the surface. The underwater lighting caused the pool to glow a welcoming cyan.

Squirtle took one final look around at the nearby Pokémon before preparing to dive in. He did not intend to breech the propriety of the commons by acting in haste. A Gardevoir was gliding toward the commons' entrance on slim white legs, a trio of Zubat squealed overhead as they fluttered by, and a couple of Cacnea were chatting by a cluster of mushrooms by the poolside, but none showed any warning signs that Squirtle was doing something wrong. So he placed his toes on the beautiful pool's edge, claw tips digging into the rock, and bent his knees for the jump.

Yet now some fact nagged at him. He was suddenly distracted. Gears of thought in the back of his head whirred with motion. What was it? The pool beckoned. Why was he preoccupied?

The Gardevoir, something about the Gardevoir. The elegant Pokémon with green hair that concealed its face. What about the Gardevoir was important? Squirtle's head was abuzz with silent noise, but he couldn't yet identify the emergency. What did some Pokémon species he'd never interacted with have to do with him?

Then, like a dam bursting under the pressure of an eager reservoir, a realization: the Gardevoir species had renowned Psychic aptitude.

All the old questions, worries, pain, and curiosity rushed back to him. Why was he here? Was he previously a human, or were humans an invented falsehood instilled in his head? Was he connected in some way to the great storm? What happened to him? Was traveling with Quil or addressing the Electric phenomenon really what he should be doing? A tumult of emotion and thought churned as he swayed on the edge of the pool. He'd thought less and less about his origins as his journey with Quil continued and grew complicated. How subtly the questions had faded as he became occupied with other matters.

The Gardevoir would soon be lost amid the other Pokémon in the commons, and who knew when Squirtle would encounter another Psychic? This was the chance he'd so dearly coveted after his battle with the Espeon. Without even dipping in a foot, he turned from the pool and hurried to catch up to the Gardevoir.

“Hello,” she said in a silken tenor as Squirtle neared. He fidgeted with his claws, and opened his mouth once or twice, but said nothing.

The Gardevoir smiled nervously and her eyes flitted back to the direction she had been going. “Did you need something?” 

“I'm not sure how to ask what I want to ask,” he began before the Gardevoir could become more unsettled by his silence. “I've begun traveling only recently, and never properly met a Psychic-type. Is it true that you can, um...read minds?”

The Gardevoir inclined her head humbly. “We do our best, though only the most skilled Psychics can see the contents of a Pokémon's mind like ordered words in a book. I would not place myself quite at that level, no. Why do you ask?”

Quil was right! Psychic-types are what I need. Squirtle's eyes brightened as he looked up at the Gardevoir.

“Perfect. I know my situation is bizarre, but I have almost no memories from my life before about a week ago. My earliest memory is waking up in the forest near Karprest a week ago.” The Gardevoir's face changed to the pitying expression that the Pokémon of the Karprest ferry crew had worn when Squirtle mentioned his memory problem to them that peaceful morning.

“Amnesia,” she murmured. “I'm truly sorry to hear that, Squirtle.”

“Since that time, I've been searching for a Pokémon able to restore my memory, or at least uncover what happened to me on the day I woke up as a Sq--er, woke up without my memories.”

The Gardevoir straightened her posture as she looked over Squirtle's head into the distant darkness of the cavern. “Reinstating memories for normal retrieval that have been repressed, buried, or removed entirely. Possibly simple, or possibly...not possible.”

Squirtle's felt as if his heart would skip a beat at those last words, but she brought her eyes to Squirtle's once again and smiled reassuringly. “Don't worry. While I have honed my talent, I've not reached the level of my teacher, Wolos. Have you heard of her? She's a celebrated Psychic, a Reuniclus. Pokémon from practically everywhere come to Cavetown for her tutelage, or to purchase her services. I believe she has openings in her schedule in a week or so. Would that interest you?”

Squirtle reluctantly shook his head. “No money, and I fear I won't be in Cavetown for long anyway. Do you ever personally help Pokémon like myself?”

The Gardevoir brought a hand to her mouth and glided back a step. “Me? No, no. I'm proficient with techniques for defending myself and attacking others in the wild, of course, but I am barely practiced at the more delicate art of Psychic therapy. It's for this reason that I learn from Wolos for two hours each day. I have much still to learn from her.”

Squirtle's mouth twitched as a proposition dawned on him. “I'm looking for immediate Psychic assistance, and you're in Cavetown to practice providing said assistance. The arrangement seems beneficial to both of us, doesn't it?”

She combed a green hand through her matching locks of hair in a flustered fashion as she replied, “I've forayed only into slight mental modifications. Procedures like single-detail memory alterations, or association drowsiness to treat insomnia. Your memory condition is of a severity that I have neither heard of nor witnessed.”

“I have no doubt that your teacher is a fantastic, er, Psychic therapist. But I had some presumption that your kind, Gardevoir, were precise and graceful in the way they used their Psychic abilities. Are you sure you're not willing to try?”

The Gardevoir stopped combing her hair, and shook her head to let the bangs fall into the characteristic 'V' shape. “I am a student, and though I am a Gardevoir, I would not feel at ease if I recommended attempting the adjustment by myself and with no assistance.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Squirtle asked seriously.

After a pause, she said, “I'll relay the answer Wolos always gives: It is better to not discuss that unpleasant topic.”

“I see.” He tried to keep his voice clear of anxiety. Squirtle did not want anyone in his head that lacked confidence in their abilities, but at the same time, passing up an opportunity like this one in this favorable setting would be a blunder.

In the Gardevoir, Squirtle saw hesitation and doubt. Yet he also saw a restraint. She was hiding some emotions or thoughts behind her screen of polite professionalism. The Gardevoir was not divulging her complete opinion. Why would she hide her true feelings from a random stranger she'd just bumped into, one she'd probably never see again? Squirtle chewed on the idea, willing forth an answer. To maintain her professional appearance, maybe? To separate her personal desires in order to do what is best for the client?

He recalled the concept of a doctor's practice from the haze of his past. A doctor, entrusted with the health and sometimes the life of their patient, would always advise caution with any treatment that they had never administered before. However, the doctor could still feel confident in their abilities, or even be eager to practice, despite not hinting at such feelings for the sake of professionalism or a perfect track record. The analogy was imperfect, but equating the Gardevoir to a doctor was not too far-fetched in Squirtle's eyes. Deep down, he believed the Gardevoir was not unwilling to try.

“I can't say I understand how this Psychic therapy works,” he said, “but would it be possible to take it slow? To withdraw if you start to stumble, or if my problem seems untreatable?”

“If I were to try to help you, I would be cautious and methodical in my efforts, but Psychic therapy drains the subject's energy just like most offensive Psychic techniques. The longer I spent working in your mind, the more fatigued you would become. A failed attempt would cost hours while we waited for you to fully recover, as it is following any battle.” She broke eye contact. “And, in the same way that a Charmander cannot reverse the damage when her tail ignites a passing bush, a Psychic cannot undo injury to the psyche once it occurs. That is my greater concern.”

Squirtle initially thought her last point was a scare tactic, but the anxiety in her eyes was no ploy. He began pacing, trying to decide if the risk was worth it. “What is the rate of such a catastrophic failure, in Psychic therapy?”

“When I am administering it, I'm afraid the rate is unknown. As I said, too, your amnesia is severe and by an unknown cause. I doubt even Wolos would be able to estimate her success rate.”

Not too helpful. Though he could not deny that his memory problem was extreme, the source of the issue might prove easy to fix. Really, he had no idea how problematic it would be to find out and perhaps reverse what happened to his mind. Why assume that it would be especially difficult to help him? By the sound of it, Pokémon getting Psychic therapy was not a rare event. No way that it would be considered dangerous or risky in a world where one's health was paramount. And this was a Gardevoir they were talking about. Not an inexperienced Ralts, or some half-baked Psychic species.

Squirtle's innate curiosity slowly tightened its grip. The more he pondered the wisdom of this decision, the more his questions demanded an answer. This time, he could not file them away for some other time. The only method to get answers was standing in front of him: a Psychic-type Pokémon willing to assist. If he walked away now, he knew that lump of regret would sit in his belly for the next week, month, or lifetime.

Time to go for it, before I start worrying about all of the terrible outcomes.

He stood in front of the Gardevoir, who appeared thoughtful herself. He said, “I'm willing to try. Are you?” And, trying to brighten the offer, he added, “I promise you won't find a mind quite like mine anywhere else.”

Blushing, he regretted his choice of words. I sound like the biggest braggart in the world! I only meant that I have the only human mind in this place.

If she was offended or disgusted, she gave no sign. Her small frame rose and fell with a steadying breath. “Wolos forgive me for making this ambitious decision, but I am grateful for this opportunity, and promise I will do my best to help you.”

Squirtle jumped into the air with a fist raised in success. “Great! Thanks, Gardevoir!”

“Please, call me Ralia.” Her posture changed, and Squirtle knew what was coming.

“I'm just Squirtle,” he said, and delivered a moderate-strength Tackle toward Ralia's middle.

Nothing physically pushed back against Squirtle, but he was nonetheless repelled by some jolt. Simultaneously, he felt a light pressure in his skull, like fingertips pushing against his brain. The combination of sensations gave him flashbacks to the end of his fight against the Espeon. This must have been a similar psychokinetic move. Ralia's greeting was disquieting if not alarming, for Squirtle at least. Perhaps other Pokémon found Psychic-type abilities to be perfectly ordinary.

I'm going to be letting that in my head? The fresh reminder of how it felt to be affected by Psychic-type moves brought about second thoughts about the therapy.

“Let's move down that way, if that's alright with you, Squirtle?” She pointed her long arm deeper into the cavern. After an answering nod, the two began distancing themselves from the busier part of the commons.

“A superlative setting for Psychics sees serenity, stillness, and silence,” said Ralia with a reassuring smile at Squirtle. “A memorable teaching from Wolos herself. She believes that a Psychic will be at his or her best while relaxed on the peak of an isolated mountain beneath a full moon. Strange, yes, but not implausible I think. What do you think?”

Squirtle swallowed nervously and wondered if she was trying to distract him from his fear, or if she was merely excited to play with his brain. “Certainly,” he managed.

The walk took them well away from the entrance tunnel. Pokémon were not absent from the far reaches of the cavern, but the mood farther in was subdued and peaceful compared to the busy energy by the entrance. Squirtle looked back at the crowded entrance, amazed at how quiet it sounded from his position. Apparently not every cavern echoed sound all about.

“This should do,” said Ralia. She gestured at a particularly dim area near the right wall of the cavern. The nearest other Pokémon was a good stone's throw away, a Sneasel. It was focused on swiping its claws furiously at a rock riddled with parallel gouges. Squirtle wondered what had upset it so before Ralia interrupted his thoughts.

“Take the position you find most comfortable.”

“I believe that would be in my shell. Is that okay?”

She blinked. “Oh. Actually, yes, that's no problem at all.”

Squirtle took one last look around the commons. The big moment had arrived unexpectedly quickly. He'd anticipated some more preparation by the Gardevoir, and a special venue for the therapy. This was further evidence that Pokémon took an undeniably simple approach to most things in life. Already, he was at the special location where he might regain his memories, and have the answer to every single question he had about himself and his past. Everything might change here. All of his priorities. His attitude toward Pokémon. His opinion of everything he'd accomplished so far. The name by which others called him.

Or, Ralia could make an error, ruining his mind from the inside outward. He wouldn't even have a say in it. How could he run from something within his own mind? Briefly, he wondered if Ralia was trustworthy. There was no telling what permanent damage she could inflict if she had nefarious intentions. What motivation could she have to do something so heinous to a stranger though?

Anyway, he'd already made his decision. Any other thoughts were mere delay. He took solace in that logic, and lay prone on the rock. With a last glance at Ralia's focused expression, he withdrew into his own personal darkness. To the Gardevoir, he would look like an immobile shell resting on the rocky floor.

“Give me a moment to prepare myself,” she said quietly. The words were barely audible to Squirtle.

A minute passed in which Squirtle adamantly avoided worrying about the fate of his mind. Ralia then spoke a speech that she'd no doubt be giving some permutation of to all of her future subjects.

“This treatment's goal is to restore your memories to a retrievable state. If that cannot be achieved, the treatment priority will become to determine what happened to you to destroy or block off the memories. Please close your eyes, relax your mind and body, and do not resist the Psychic incursion. You will experience irregular sensations, but they are a normal part of the therapeutic adjustment.”

“Rather, they should be,” she added in a softer voice that Squirtle had to strain to hear, before she finished her speech. “If you have any questions, please speak now, or I will begin.”

Squirtle was silent, both because he was ready to begin, and because he doubted he could talk while compressed so tightly in his shell. Ralia the Gardevoir said nothing herself as she took a final breath. Squirtle could picture her standing tall before him, raising her arms in a climactic gesture of power. Alternatively, she was slumped on the ground with her eyes closed. Whatever worked.

He felt it begin. Ralia's 'Psychic incursion' pushed against his forehead with a force that was both physical and non-physical. He knew she was not crouching in front of him, reaching her green arms into his shell and pressing her green digits against his forehead, but the sensation was indistinguishable. Like a pin poking into the surface of a resilient soap bubble, pressing and squeezing deeper, until the bubble's strained surface finally enfolds the pin's head, and it stabs through to the bubble's interior, Squirtle felt Ralia's power enter his mind.

The pressure of the force was foreign and instinctually undesirable. He steadied himself against the urge to rebel, to throw off this invasion of his mind and run screaming away from its source. Every second, he itched to be done with it, but he also grew to tolerate it to a degree. Ralia was an unwanted houseguest, though a more familiar one as the treatment continued.

Squirtle was surprised that he could comprehend nothing of what Ralia was doing. He'd assumed that as she explored his mind and tinkered with his memory, he would somehow experience the headway she was making. Instead, all he experienced was a physical-but-not-physical pressure inside his skull, moving around, sharpening, dulling, building, fading. He wondered if she could see or hear his thoughts as they formed.

A minute passed. Another. Ralia's presence settled down, becoming steadier and less mobile. Hopefully, she had found where she needed to be. A welcome sign, since Squirtle knew he was weakening. He wouldn't be able to sit still and continue to bear the strain of the Psychic force for very long.

Two more minutes passed before the sensation changed. Now she was withdrawing, every bump and jostle on the way out like the throb of a migraine. Why though? He felt no different. No flood of memory assailed him. There must have been some complication. He supposed he should be grateful that she'd chosen to abort the procedure instead of lingering and causing him further stress or even damage. With instantaneous, palpable relief, he felt Ralia's presence exit his mind.

“Done,” said her voice wearily, but with a clear note of satisfaction.

Squirtle extended his head and limbs back out of his shell cautiously. No, he still felt the same. Nothing had changed. A sour expression threatened to show on his face. Was all the excitement, the preparation, and the anxiety for nothing?

“I don't feel any different,” he said, careful to keep any disappointment out of his tone. “Did you change anything? Does the therapy have a delayed effect?”

She smiled a content, even proud smile, as she looked sidelong at him. “What's your earliest memory now?”

He began to speak, to answer that he still couldn't recall. Yet her words automatically cast his mind back without any conscious effort on his part, in the way that merely mentioning the past will bring it to mind. His response died in his throat as his jaw dropped and his eyes unfocused.

He remembered.


	21. Appeal

The skyscrapers of Castelia City. Looking up at them after stepping out of his parents' apartment building and onto the street. The windows kept so clean, so beautiful.

His mother, a scientist researching an esoteric branch of chemistry that most couldn't pronounce. Golden hair, focused eyes that could pierce to the heart of any problem. His father, a...mathematician of some variety. Statistics, maybe? Glasses, naturally, and a rare but heart-warming laugh. A hand guiding his back as he was taught how to bike near the harbors in southern Castelia. Advice at the dinner table on choosing a gift for a friend, with the aroma of peanut butter cookies in the air. A joyous childhood, but one that instilled principle.

A sister, as driven to succeed as he always was. Maybe more. Growing up, she attracted countless young men, but she was never content for long. Too smart for her own good, they taunted after their hearts were broken. He was proud of a sister who favored her work and her studies above all, as it pushed him forward too.

Memorable events in his early life. The annual dance competition at the Plaza in honor of a legendary dance team formed centuries ago. Learning to drive. Sight-seeing outside of the city for a weekend. The smell of the sea from his uncle's expensive boats. He could never remember the type of boat, since there were always so many that he learned that day.

Friends. Roger, the sickly kid who inadvertently taught him to perceive more than the obvious, to strive for insight in daily life. As introverted as they come. He was sure Roger would be a famous poet or writer one day. Edmond, a popular boy, from whom he soon grew apart. Edmond ending up starting a journey as a trainer. He politely wished Edmond luck like everyone else, but inwardly scorned Edmond's decision to trifle away his youth.

Brayden, everyone called him. That was his name. Brayden Lester. The two words felt like a favorite blanket that had been lost, then found unexpectedly years later. Missed, loved, inexplicably essential.

Understanding better the world he lived in, as he lived out his teens. Learning the positives in the world. Stringently protected parks and preserves in all the regions. Human freedom in most arenas, and strides in Pokémon rights. Technological might, as well as safety. Interconnectedness, global connectedness. Food surplus. A fairly idyllic world. Learning the negatives, too. Solar panels marring every roof. Immense power consumption. Impossibility of a rural lifestyle for anyone. Dead ends in the advancement of human medical care. Above all, overpopulation. Lack of space. Stalled urbanization, dwindling of progress.

A resultant dream of change. Exploring the possibilities of improving the world, of turning negatives into positives and improving life for all. Choosing scientific research, perhaps with a bit of a push from his mother. Setting out on his life's path.

Daisy, and their long talks of the ethics of Pokémon experimentation on Skyarrow Bridge. Discussions of the body and the soul, the brain and the mind. Sweet Daisy's thoughtful frown. Liz, a rival with an attitude. She couldn't stop him from earning a place in Castelia's neuroscience scene, not even after she'd charmed half the big-wigs.

Lectures, symposiums, projects without end. So many hours spent learning, then more hours when it was all over just to stay on the cutting edge. The brunt of his career beginning with small-time research. The developmental study on Ghost-type Pokémon sensation. Then some work on Pokémon grip strength, but most scholars agreed that there remained little of interest or profit to study in the physical capabilities of Pokémon. Consciousness becoming his passion, the pursuit that occupied months, then years of his life. Did consciousness arise from the brain's physicality, or its activity? Was consciousness something more? How did the configuration of cells in a brain determine a brainstate? A term his team had coined, and celebrated.

Yes, his team. The enthusiastic dedication he brought to the labs and offices. The glimmer of esteem in the eyes of his betters. Applying himself to producing publications for his research studies. His name's position on list of contributing authors moving up and up until one year, his name taking the first author position. The position of greatest contribution. And for good reason. Not long afterward, securing the prestige and authority to follow his own pursuits. There was no lack of neuroscientists who agreed with the direction he took in research. Another promising young man became a co-lead, but he couldn't remember his name. Their team was excellent, everything he'd hoped for.

A new publication under his name, one of his more recent memories. The title eluded him, but it broke barriers many thought were indestructible. Certainly any lay-person would believe them so. Something about a complete brain scan imprinted onto undifferentiated nervous progenitor cells, in order to accomplish some novel feat. What was it? The thesis had been memorable, too.

A new facility in their district of Castelia. The off-green ascetic was ugly, they all agreed. Function before beauty, they laughed. Holding tanks, preciously expensive servers and computers, rigorous safety protocols and training. Electroencephalography helmets with a mind-boggling sensitivity and resolution, courtesy of a manufacturing lab in Lumiose city. A facility to push scientific limits, and to open new avenues of neuroscience, psychology, biology, Pokéscience, politics. Even philosophy.

Hurdles, and easy stretches. Personnel leaving for one reason or another, and new hires. Experimental trials. Conferences. Many of these were blank spots in his mind, devoid of any detail. Some of the more recent ones, especially. Had he been drinking? No, he drank only infrequently. Drugged? Doubtful. Simply forgetful? Impossible.

One of the newest memories, a breakthrough. Feelings of disbelief. Happiness, mingled with disappointment. Betrayal? Rushing to the lab after...a phone call? A television broadcast? Arriving to find...others. Familiar faces in lab coats, but strangers too. Why? A crisis, a celebration? The newest memory was incomplete, like a photo album riddled with holes and tears. Their latest and most ambitious project had been reaching fruition, he recalled. What had happened?

The most recent memory. The last thing he could recall. A peculiarly stable and complete memory, albeit a simple one. His firm decision to become a Pokémon and step into a new frontier.

“I imagine it's overwhelming, isn't it?” said Ralia the Gardevoir across from him.

Squirtle's body jerked out of reflex. Exploring his memories in the silence of his mind, he'd forgotten the world around him. Ralia must have been patiently waiting for him to speak for a long time. Squirtle estimated he'd said nothing for the last ten minutes. Ralia's first question following her therapy had triggered his mind to think of his earliest memories, and he'd been following the connections ever since. The quantity of memories was staggering. Years and years of events, emotions, sights and sounds.

“I find it difficult making sense of all of them,” Squirtle said after clearing his throat. “There's no labeled timeline in my head to follow along, nor are the memories sorted by importance.”

“I can understand that. Memory is not immutable. It's flexible, and organic. Anyone can be tricked into remembering something that never even happened, just as they can repeatedly brand a true memory as a dream or a lie until they believe it to be true. And I'm sure you won't recall many of your memories even now until you find yourself in a context where they can be triggered.”

Yes, I know all that, Squirtle felt like saying. I was a researcher at the fore of neuroscience, after all. But that claim would mean nothing to Ralia.

She must have seen an irritated or rueful expression cross his face, because she said, “I only say this to warn of the dangers following a memory-related therapy. Please, do not place your full trust in your memory. Now, or ever.”

“Since we're on the subject, how come my memories are incomplete? I find blanks more frequently closer to the present, but shouldn't it be the reverse?” he asked.

She started combing her green hair with a hand as she replied, “Yes, I'm not sure about that. I...think that your memories were already that way before the therapy. As you said, there are total gaps in your memory, especially later on in your life. While I believe I fully repaired the retrieval of all of your other memories, there is nothing to be done about those gaps. It's as if those memories aren't in your mind at all. I could not find them.”

Interesting. And not in a good way. “Do you have any idea what happened to them?”

Her bangs wobbled side to side as she shook her head. “Whatever happened to you that made you lose your memories is probably also responsible for the gaps.”

“You mean, you couldn't see for yourself?”

A small smile. “Experiencing your memories for myself was not necessary for the treatment, and would not be befitting of a Psychic therapist anyway.”

He ached to ply her with questions of how exactly she manipulated the brain or the mind in order to perform her 'Psychic therapy', but he knew that she would be unable to put it in the terms he wanted. Pokémon were not scientists, with their education, research, and explanations. They did the things they did without higher order thought or complete understanding of what they were doing. His thoughts turned to his own ability to blast water out of his mouth from some storage by an unknown bodily process. Squirtle was no expert in fluid mechanics, but his Water-type abilities wouldn't suffer. Psychics must be the same way.

He looked up at the Gardevoir, trying to generate more questions, but found he had nothing left to ask that she would be able to answer. Now all he wanted was some solitude to sort through his memories further.

“Thank you very much, Ralia, for what you've done for me. I hope the process was informative and helpful for you, in turn.”

“It was, absolutely. The memories you have were, to speak crudely of a beautiful subject, scattered as if by a Shiftry's hurricane. I'm glad the damage was a simple matter to reverse, such that I was able to help.”

More food for thought. He let a smile onto his face, and said, “I won't be in Cavetown for long, but maybe I'll see you around. Good luck with your training under Wolos.”

Ralia looked gracious and professional in her final words and departure, but Squirtle imagined there was a layer of bright triumph beneath the exterior. “I'll leave this quiet area to you. Goodbye.”

After the Gardevoir glided away toward the crowd at the commons' entrance, Squirtle prepared himself for some serious thought. Regaining most of his memory was a huge development. He needed to consolidate all that he knew, and reevaluate his priorities and goals.

Ever since that first night in Karprest, he'd been more or less following his two step plan. If memory served, and now it served more than ever, his first step was to remember who he was and what had happened to him. His second and final step was to use that information to create new goals. Now he could remember who he was, thus accomplishing half of his first step. He was Brayden Lester. A young scientist working out of Castelia City. The next part, remembering what happened to him, remained to be clarified.

No matter how he pried at them, the gaps in his memory leading up to that final decision to become a Pokémon remained present. He could not recall what had transpired to bring about his transformation into a Squirtle. The most obvious answer was that something at the laboratory facility had caused it. Yet as best as he could remember, there was nothing at the facility that was capable of transforming a human into a Pokémon. He ran down a mental list of coworkers and current research projects at Castelia, but found nothing related to such a transformation.

The circumstances of the transformation, too, were unusual. If he had decided to become a Pokémon, he would have done so after plenty of preparation and team discussion, and in a highly controlled test environment. The scientific method in full would have been employed. His memories indicated that that day was one of a kind, for some reason or another. There had been a critical situation, or a major new advancement while he wasn't on site. What had happened that could possibly have pushed him to become a Pokémon? How was the process feasible? His team had been working on nervous tissue arrangement and brainstates, not radical human-to-Pokémon transformations.

Furthermore, when he'd been transformed, wouldn't he have stayed in the same place? Why did he awaken alone under a tree in some forest? That sounded like teleportation, a concept he most certainly had not been involved in. What had displaced him, and where was he, really? He'd already ascertained that he was on the same planet, due to the preservation of constants such as day length, constellations, and the various Pokémon species.

The fact that Quil had not even heard the word 'human' before Squirtle had mentioned it meant that humans did not live in the area. He took to pacing as he visualized a complete map of his world. Unoccupied stretches of land were nearly non-existent due to a mostly unimpeded human growth rate, hence overpopulation and its daughter issues being some of the greatest problems facing humanity. However, he could think of at least twenty natural reserves protected by law from human habitation or influence. Some were under a mile at the widest, but others were bigger than Unova. Squirtle supposed that in the heart of the biggest of said reserves, the Pokémon would not have heard of humans.

Alternatively, a more outlandish phenomenon was at work. Maybe he'd been thrown into the far future or distant past, where humans were gone for whatever reason. Maybe, as Quil had proposed, all the memories he'd been reviewing were a false tale created by a nefarious Psychic-type. Or, he was still a human in his lab, but Quil and Cavetown and everything he'd seen and done was an intricate simulation or dream concocted for research purposes.

He could invent explanations and try to fill in his memory gaps all day, but the data was insufficient and would remain that way. He had to proceed to Step Two: use his available information to create new goals. Unfortunately the new available information he had was nigh on useless. Almost none of the memories of his previous life were relevant to his current life. What did it matter that he remembered liking vanilla ice cream or that he could explain how the occipital cortex interpreted visual stimuli? He was a Squirtle in a Pokémon-populated cave system!

Therefore, his best course of action should remain the same. Learn why he chose to become a Pokémon, and move forward from there. A fine goal, except that achieving it appeared impossible. Squirtle had thought the only clues to his past lay within his own mind, but extracting those clues had been completed to no avail. The memories were gone, probably forever. Ralia said they weren't in his mind at all. There was no one who could help him with this. He was alone with his problem. If he could not reason out the answer, it would never be found.

He grumbled to himself and slumped to the ground. What to do, what to do? Why did he choose this? To what end? How was it even possible? 

His mind remained as dark as the depths of the ceiling above the stalactites. His gaze lazily followed one down to where its tip was poised above one of the pools, the same one he'd almost jumped into. He narrowed his eyes in consideration.

Eh, a change of scenery might be what I need.

A brief stroll brought him back to the edge of the beautiful cyan waters. This time the Floatzel, who was still floating tranquilly on its back, greeted him casually: “Water's nice.” His voice sounded relaxed beyond measure. Squirtle returned a friendly smile, and wasted no time in slipping into the water tail-first.

As was to be expected of an ancient pool deep in a cavern, the water was cold. Squirtle loved it. He exhaled about a third of his air to allow his body to sink. With his eyes half-lidded, he drifted toward the bottom. About twenty feet down, the glowing aquatic fungi on the walls grew scarce. The rocky bottom was only barely lit. As a human, he'd no doubt have been frightened, but as a Pokémon meant for water, he cherished the tranquil environment.

A Poliwag turned out to be sharing the depths with him, and they exchanged a brief greeting. The airless manner of underwater speech came back to Squirtle easily. As the Poliwag spiraled toward the surface, Squirtle let his shell-back clink against the bottom of the pool. He could still see the stalactite far above, as well as the Floatzel's back with its two cream-colored spots.

Squirtle lay there, drinking in the calm. Holding his breath was easier than blinking an eye. On a sudden whim, he flared his tiny nostrils as wide as they would open, which was hardly wide at all. The motion was enough to draw water inside, and he detected a few sharp scents. An odd plant-like smell, the fungus. A pair of Pokémon smells, unique and indescribable. A salty tang spread throughout the pool, presumably from the dissolved minerals and sediment. There were other scents too, but each was old and faded. Previous occupants of the pool, probably.

To test his new-found aquatic smell's proficiency, he closed his eyes and propelled himself forward with his tail. While allowing the water to waft through his nostrils, he aimed himself toward the freshest scent of one of the Pokémon. When the strength of the scent diminished, he turned his head about until he was on track toward the source once more. The scent grew stronger and stronger, along with Squirtle's excitement. When it grew overwhelmingly strong, he opened his eyes to see the Poliwag eying him cautiously from five feet away.

“Sorry. Practicing my, er, smelling,” he said. After a pause, the Poliwag swam away without a word.

I'm like an underwater Poochyena. Not a useful talent for battling, but what a thrill!

Sinking once more, he returned his thoughts to formulating a plan for himself. His thoughts were clear and discrete, as they always were when he was in his element. What had happened to him that day? Why did he choose to become a Pokémon, and how could he have possibly ended up here? What was he missing? Was he being tricked? Was this reality? The questions drifted through his mind. He examined each, tried his best to answer it, then moved on. For ten minutes, he lay at the bottom thinking.

Why and how this had happened to him, he still couldn't say, but the sense of purpose contained in that newest memory was brilliant as the sunrise. He chose this. This life was his intention when he chose to be transformed. An intention he'd had before his memories were taken from him. An intention he'd had while he was a complete person with a complete history standing behind him. What he was, was what he'd wanted for himself. It shouldn't matter to him what the reason had been, in light of those facts. He had to trust his past self. Not trusting himself would be folly.

As for what he should be doing, trying to learn more about why he'd chosen to become a Pokémon seemed to be an impossible task. Therefore he had to assume that waking up spatially and temporally at the worst of the lightning storm was no coincidence. That connection was all he had. If Squirtle had woken up next to a broken vase, he should mend the vase.

Something was very wrong in these lands, so it followed that he needed to do his best to fix it. Even if he was only a Squirtle.

He kicked off the bottom, then withdrew his arms and legs to streamline his body. His tail waved vigorously side to side. With a cascade of droplets, he launched out onto the poolside. Once the pool had calmed, he gazed into the waters at the edge. A typical Squirtle's face looked back at him. Violet eyes. Hooked upper lip. Smooth and shiny skin still glistening with water droplets lit from the cyan waters below.

This is me, now. This is what I wanted. Now that I'm more familiar with this Pokémon body, mind, and lifestyle, I can't say I'm displeased with my past choice. But enough thinking. He scanned the commons for flames.

There's work to be done.

Squirtle found the Cyndaquil and Quilava panting as they rested against one of the large fallen stalactites from the ceiling, Quil panting more so. A light coat of gray rock dust adhered to their limbs and bellies, so Squirtle knew they'd been moving around, maybe battling.

“Hi Squirtle!” chirped Quil. Cyndil the Quilava raised his chin in greeting.

“Hey you two. Quil, I wanted to talk about our plan. Are you busy?”

Quil's cheerfulness vanished. He expressed his thanks to Cyndil, who said, “No problem. You're tougher than you look. For a Cyndaquil,” he finished with a playful laugh. Quil said his goodbyes before heading off with Squirtle to a deserted area.

“I bumped into a Psychic-type, a Gardevoir actually. She fixed my memories, or rather, what memories were still there.”

Quil's reaction was exultant surprise. Once his joy on Squirtle's behalf had subsided, he began to ask questions, one after the other. Squirtle relayed the gist of his conversation and 'treatment' with Ralia, and Quil listened with fascinated attention. At first, Squirtle left out the actual details of his recovered memories, but Quil insisted on hearing about humans. The Cyndaquil could not seem to wrap his head around the idea of a laboratory facility, even after Squirtle's third attempt at explanation. He guessed he was a poor teacher, and he did recall never being any good at teaching his scientifically-ignorant friends and acquaintances about the work he did. “You're a doer, not a teacher,” they would say as he struggled for words.

“But you still don't know what happened at the end. Krow's luck,” Quil commented once he'd finished. “Did you remember your name at least?”

“Yes, I was called Brayden.” Squirtle found the name didn't fit the atmosphere when he spoke it into the air. Like an old-fashioned name such as Theodore or Sally being applied in the modern day, the name Brayden did not sound right in Cavetown.

“Brayden,” Quil repeated. “Brayden, Brayden. Hm. Alright, I'll call you by your real name now.”

“No, that name is...I shouldn't be called that.” What was he saying? Brayden was his name, no doubt about it. What was this reluctance he felt?

“Huh?” Quil's head tilted. “Do you remember, a minute after I met you, how you went as crazy as an Aipom when you couldn't remember your name?”

“I know, I remember. That name though, it...” He struggled to put his feelings into words. “It's not a name for a Squirtle. It doesn't belong on someone who lives how we live, who does what we're doing. It's a human name meant for a different place. A different lifestyle, culture, whatever you want to call it. A different world.”

“I didn't want to say anything, but it's a weird name, for a 'mon.” He chuckled in classic Quil fashion. “I think I see what you mean. You still don't have a nickname though, so what are you going to do if you don't like Brayden anymore?”

Squirtle crossed his short arms as best as he could in a gesture of thoughtfulness. “Good point. I don't think renaming myself feels right either. The only option left is to keep moving forward without a nickname. Squirtle I was, and Squirtle I'll be. That's reasonable, isn't it?”

“Sure is, not-Brayden!”

Squirtle snorted out his nostrils softly in laughter, but his mirth died as he watched Quil grow serious once again.

“You have almost all of your memories back now, but you still don't know how you ended up here as a Squirtle. So what are you going to do? How do you feel now about the plan we made after Blindhollow?”

“I have no choice but to operate under an assumption that the reason I'm here is to correct the chaos caused by the Electric boost. Because of that, I'm actually more resolved than ever that we should be dethroning Raizula one way or another.”

Quil threw up his forelimbs in a cheer. “So we're still together on this, fantastic! I gave it plenty of thought myself, but especially after seeing all the refugees here--” His words faltered for a moment. Squirtle saw his flames behave in a novel way: the blaze died down, but bristled in a quivering motion.

He lifted his snout, appearing to look directly at Squirtle. “I'm ready for what comes next. I hope we're successful.”

* * *

Up close, the glowing mushrooms were like alien lifeforms. The gills on the underside gave Squirtle the creepy-crawlies. The stalks made a squishy sound when compressed that reminded him of a soapy sponge being squeezed. The surface of the mushrooms gave way when prodded, but always sprang back. The mushrooms would surely bear the weight of two small Pokémon like Quil and Squirtle. The largest mushroom in the cluster was five times their height, even if the stalk wasn't especially sturdy.

“You're asking me to shout so that everyone can hear me. That is literally the reverse of how I normally talk.” Quil shook his head at the absurdity of the idea.

Squirtle patted his friend's side encouragingly. “Once you start, they'll quiet down. You know that.”

“Sure, but why can't you do this again? I told you a couple of days ago that you'd have to attack first, remember?”

Squirtle cringed at Quil's nervous irritation. What they were doing would be difficult enough. He didn't need the added stress of guilt. “We both know I don't sound like a 'native' Pokémon, even if I have been improving. The Pokémon here won't sympathize as much with me, because I don't know the lingo, the expressions and jargon that everyone else knows. Also,” as he raised a finger for emphasis, “I think you'd be better at speaking from the heart. I'm more...aloof and analytical, don't you think?”

“Yeah, usually you are. Me, though,” he began, then shrunk down into himself. “Me, though?”

Squirtle thought back to the times in his research teams when he needed to act as a leader. To make a decision for the group, or to bring everyone onto the same page. At none of those times had he needed to give a pep talk to inspire his team. He only worked with scientists who had an ample supply of personal drive. Squirtle didn't lead by emotion, anyway, so he had no practice at what he was about to attempt. Better to try and fail than not try at all.

“Quil, listen. You learned a new move from a powerful Quilava not half an hour ago. You were smacked off a cliff by a living boulder without a single complaint afterward. You spoke face to face with a psychotic Charizard alleged to have destroyed towns.” He flipped back rapidly through his memories to come up with more praise, and cut off Quil's meager objections with a new sentence every time the Cyndaquil spoke.

“You worked steadily on your Fire technique despite believing it to be worse than terrible. You made it across the Karp river as a pure Fire-type, even under duress by hostile Pokémon at the beginning. You've been Paralyzed and electrocuted by Electric-types, yet here you are ready to take a public stand against them.” Squirtle shivered at the memory of Stolt's assault, but he kept going.

“You left home into the big, wide world with nothing but some memorized instructions in your head. And, you set a clueless Squirtle spinning on his shell in the middle of a horrendous thunderstorm, but still insisted on getting him out safely. Which you did, might I add.”

Quil smiled at the last one. Squirtle finished up his motivational speech with the kicker. “Tell me if this sounds crazy, but I think you have it in you to say a few words in front of a crowd.”

Hm, not bad. I'd be inspired. But I doubt I'd be able to make a speech to all of these Pokémon, even with a list of my heroic deeds fresh in mind. Squirtle put on a confident face, for Quil's sake.

“Alright,” Quil said soundly. “When you put it that way, I'd be silly to not try.”

“Excellent! Remember the points you have to hit, and we'll be saving Blindhollow in no time. You have this, Quil!” Confident face, confident face. Please work, please work!

Quil leaped high up onto the largest mushroom, placing him at a height visible to all of the Pokémon surrounding the entrance to the commons. By Squirtle's estimate, at least ninety percent of the Pokémon in the entire cavern would be able to see him. Immediately Quil spoke up, probably to not lose heart, and in a voice louder than he typically used.

“Listen, please, everyone listen to me for a minute! Hello?”

The nearby Pokémon stopped what they were doing and turned to look at who was talking. No one farther than twenty feet away seemed to notice. The frenetic activity of the commons continued. Squirtle doubted the ones who noticed Quil would listen for very long.

“Louder, Quil!” he called upward.

Quil's worried expression told Squirtle that he could see for himself that his plea was largely unheard. His downcast face became a grimace of frustration, and without warning, Quil pointed his snout at the dark ceiling and exhaled a flurry of bright embers into the open air. The darkness receded momentarily, and the nearby stalactites were cast with a beautiful orange color. A pair of Pidgey swerved out of the way with peeps of indignation.

“Everyone, stop for a moment and listen to me!” An even stronger voice. Squirtle was taken aback. Quil really did have a louder voice. Not loud, but louder.

This time, Quil had the attention of the majority. Those who did not notice Quil's voice and display quickly noticed the reaction of everyone else and followed suit. The huge cavern quieted. Quil visibly quailed at the sudden rapt attention directed to him. Fortunately he seized the moment and began his speech.

“Hello, thank you. My partner Squirtle and I are travelers. In the last week, we've been to Karprest, Blindhollow, and all of the lands between. It's obvious to everyone now what is going on. Zappers are really, really powerful for some reason. We saw the horrible results of the imbalance in multiple forms during our travels, and we're outraged.”

Now Quil had captured the crowd's attention. Squirtle saw a few Pokémon snarling, growling, or verbally agreeing with Quil's words. Others quieted their vociferous neighbors to hear Quil's words, which weren't very loud despite being a record high for the Cyndaquil. Quil pressed on with a greater measure of confidence in his posture.

“We've seen how so many 'mon have retreated to Cavetown in the face of these wicked Electrics, and we know some of you are as angry as we are. That's why I'm asking you now to help by joining us. Our first move is taking back Blindhollow, which will--”

The cavern echoed with a wide variety of Pokémon laughter. A Feraligatr's booming guffaws alone were enough to drown any syllable of Quil's. It was as if Quil had delivered a grand joke that appealed to all the types of Pokémon in the cavern. Squirtle felt warmth rise to his face and knew Quil was hating his existence at the moment. If this issue wasn't nipped in the bud, their strategy was done for.

“The refugees in the grass cave, Quil, think of them! Don't give up!” Quil's lips quivered, and his fire withered slightly, but he did not step down. Squirtle wondered if Quil heard his words. Once the laughter had quieted, Quil spoke up once again.

“Please, listen. I'm sure news travels fast in Cavetown, so I don't have to explain what's happening in Blindhollow. I bet similar injustices are happening where most of you are from. We have a common purpose, and we've all learned not to surrender when we can still fight. Join us, and let's stop it together!”

“What can you do against an Ampharos, Cyndaquil?” shouted a Prinplup from near the entrance tunnel. “Leer at it, and hope a stray spark doesn't land on you?”

The comment earned a round of mocking chuckles from the crowd. Another Pokémon spoke out against Quil, a Monferno casually gripping the rocky wall ten feet off the ground. “Hee, gonna teach all the Zappers a lesson with your Wet friend? Hee hee!”

Squirtle was on top of the mushroom at Quil's side before he could remember that responding emotionally to criticism would only validate the critic. “At least we're trying to help, which is much more than any of you can say!” he shouted in the Monferno's direction, and smirked at the way the Pokémon broke eye contact with Squirtle.

“We've faced Zappers twice,” Quil added. “One of those times, the Zapper lost the battle! Standing against them is far from impossible!”

A bit of a stretch, but his point is spot on, thought Squirtle as he recalled the Electrike lying still on the ground. He was pleased to see that only a smattering of laughter followed Quil's claim. The Pokémon in the commons may have heard the ring of truth in Quil's voice, and anyone could see the honesty in his personality. Sadly, Squirtle saw many Pokémon returning to what they had been doing as they lost interest. Quil's credibility had been stained by the comments of the Prinplup and Monferno. Even those who appreciated the wisdom and truth in his words would think their goal an impossible task, thanks to the naysayers.

Squirtle knew by the defeated set of Quil's face that his friend lacked the strength to say anything further. He wanted to blast a Water Gun at something to vent his frustration. The speech strategy had been a failure. He looked for the next mushroom in the cluster to help him clamber down and out of sight.

“I'll join you,” called a familiar voice. Squirtle and Quil jerked upright to follow the voice. So did just about every head in the commons that heard the announcement.

“So will I!” another recognizable voice added. The two speakers were a Zebstrika and a Seviper emerging from a cranny in one of the cavern's walls. Hayzin and Viper of Blindhollow, from whom Squirtle recalled hearing a warning not to travel to the town, a few days prior.

As they moved steadily toward Squirtle and Quil's cluster of mushrooms, the Pokémon in their path stepped aside to make way. That didn't stop them from sneering, jeering, or otherwise displaying their hostility at the Electric-type. However, none made overt attacks against the Zebstrika. Whether due to civility or fear of retaliation, Squirtle wasn't sure. The Seviper glared and hissed at the most threatening Pokémon lining the makeshift pathway, as if protecting the Zebstrika. As if he needed any protection. Squirtle knew the pattern on his hide resembling lightning bolts was sufficient to deter most if not all Pokémon in the cavern.

The pair made it safely to the mushroom cluster. Hayzin stamped a hoof and turned to face the assemblage. Viper made a coil of herself and looked outward as well. Squirtle refrained from jumping for joy in front of the crowd, but Quil was not so reserved. He thankfully only jumped once, and not very high.

“Anyone else ready to take back Blindhollow? This is happening. Be a part of it!” Quil called out to the Pokémon of the commons.

Squirtle could see a variety of reactions to Viper, and more importantly, Hayzin joining their group. Anger. Consideration. Disgust. Hope. Seeing those strong emotions, all directed at his group and the effort they represented, he experienced a revelation. Quil was correct. This was happening. The future for many of these Pokémon depended on the outcome of their endeavor. They could become a group of trusted and celebrated individuals, or one that was spurned and made into the laughing stock of Cavetown. 

The hopes and dreams of hundreds of Pokémon rode on their backs. If that was not responsibility, Squirtle didn't know what was. Suddenly nauseous, Squirtle quickly descended the mushrooms to the floor. Down on the solid ground, he felt a little better, but he did not allow himself to show any further weakness before the crowd. The crowd was looking to him and those beside him for positive results. Now he was a meaningless Squirtle no longer. His importance had just skyrocketed. The nausea lingered.

Quil would have to continue the speech alone on the big mushroom. Although, it appeared that the time for useful speech-making had passed. Even when Quil restated their purpose, his voice bolstered by the two additions below him, no one else stepped forward. For reasons Squirtle could not divine with certainty, no one else joined them. Was it a desire to avoid associating with an Electric-type? A fear, or revulsion? Or were the Pokémon still unconvinced that they could make a difference, the mocking laughter still in their ears? Or some other reason he'd missed?

One by one, or in pairs and small groups, the Cavetown residents and refugees in the commons returned to what they were doing. Maybe some of them would join up in a more private climate once no one would be judging them for it. Maybe word would spread of this speech, and others in Cavetown would find Quil to join. But Squirtle had little hope. Still he was pleased they had two takers, despite the unexpected queasiness he felt at the realization of immense responsibility. One of them was an evolution, and an Electric one at that!

“Thanks for your time,” said Quil to those few still listening, with his voice returned to his regular loudness. The noise in the commons returned to its normal, boisterous level. Quil hopped down, and Squirtle whispered to him as the Zebstrika and Seviper approached for a discussion.

“Fantastic job.” In response, Quil gave a bashful grin, and some muttered words that Squirtle could not catch.

The four Pokémon regarded each other in a circle. Squirtle's nausea gave a twinge as the positioning reminded him of a team huddle at a sporting competition. If this was the team, he was the captain. The prospect of leading them was especially daunting, if Squirtle was being honest with himself, because the Zebstrika and Seviper were intimidating Pokémon. Both towered over him and could certainly take him out in a fight with low effort.

Hayzin and Viper looked to Quil, who in turn looked to Squirtle. He mustered his face into an expression of solemn wisdom.

“Thank you, Hayzin, Viper, for choosing to join us, even while under so much scrutiny. You won't regret your decision.”

Hayzin nodded his acknowledgment, but Viper spoke up excitedly. “You can bet your shell we won't! Let's mosey into Blindhollow and take that Raizula out of there! Beat up any other crazy Zappers we see, too.”

Hayzin looked curiously for Squirtle's reaction, perhaps gauging how he felt about that approach. Squirtle hesitated in replying. What would a tactful, yet firm leader say?

“While that is an option, I was planning on having a strategic discussion en route to Blindhollow. I think we should hold off on committing to a strategy until we've talked it over. Is that fair?”

The Seviper pulled her head up and back quite a distance in response, but Squirtle wasn't sure if that was due to a strong rejection of his words, or because her terrifically flexible body resulted in naturally large movements. She was so animated, even during a simple conversation.

“A strategic discussion, eh? Sure, sure, that's smart, I like it,” said Viper.

“Do you two know anyone else who might want to come?” asked Quil tentatively. “Weren't there more of you coming from Blindhollow?”

Squirtle recalled the group they'd passed in Blind Prairie: a Seviper, Zebstrika, Bellossom, Rapidash, Taillow, and two Ponyta. He remembered that the Rapidash and two Ponyta were part of Hayzin's family. Surely the Rapidash would want to help.

Hayzin lightly kicked some loose rock shards with a hoof. “Doddi and Willow will wish to remain safe in Cavetown, I've no doubt. We traveled with them for safety and speed of travel, not any deep association. I have asked my mate and young Dashar and Rappard to stay too. I could not stay here while others endeavor to reclaim my home, but I could also not bear to put my family in such danger.”

With a coughing hiss, Seviper added, “You forgot to mention the reason you're really leaving Cavetown. Not the friendliest place for Zappers is it?”

For a split second, Squirtle feared that the jibe would set Hayzin's mane crackling with electricity, but he only stamped a hoof irritably. “My intentions are charitable, Viper, not selfish.”

“Fair enough,” Squirtle continued. “It's probably night-time outside, right? How about we all get some sleep and reconvene by Cavetown's main entrance tomorrow morning? That gives some time for word to spread and stragglers to possibly join us, and we'll be fresh for a strong start.”

The two newcomers had no objections, and departed together toward the entrance to the commons. This time, the attention of the surrounding Pokémon was not on Hayzin, so he progressed with little harassment.

“Glad that's over with,” said Quil, sagging to the floor. “All this shouting, talking, commotion, it takes a lot of energy. Especially when there's a Zapper three feet away from you.”

“True,” Squirtle agreed. “Now he's definitely on our side, which gives us a major advantage for once. We've got Viper's, uh, formidable personality going for us too.”

“Wanna take your advice and sleep until morning?”

“Fine by me. But where?”

The pair followed after Hayzin and Viper, and Squirtle found that the commons had thinned out some since they'd entered. He had no idea how the Pokémon living in Cavetown in the long term determined what time it was, or if they lived by their body clocks for mealtimes and sleeping. Personally, he'd prefer to have an outside indicator to rely upon. After enduring some wry smiles and Pokémon talking behind their backs as they passed, Squirtle and Quil exited the commons. From there, they decided to check out the Habitation Caverns from earlier that day.

With no superior alternative, Squirtle elected to accompany Quil to the room occupied by the grassland Pokémon he was familiar with. Besides the Pokémon they saw earlier, the cave was now inhabited further by a Jigglypuff, a large swarm of Rattata, and Doddi the Bellossom. The mood was hushed and melancholy. Squirtle felt he ought to make an announcement about their plans to set out to take back Blindhollow in the morning, but the cave's sense of defeat drained any ounce of exuberance Squirtle had. Any announcement would be hollow.

Quil would not be up to it either, since he curled up next to a bare wall once they'd all shared a basic greeting. He looked beat. There was insufficient grass to go around, so it looked like it was going to be another night of rest on cold rock, like in the Prison of Blindhollow. Squirtle was not quite ready to sleep for the night, so he told Quil he was going to walk around and maybe check on the progress of that digging team.

Once he stepped into the empty corridor, a shrill male voice spoke to him.

“Hiya Squirtle, how're you doing today?”

It was funny, but there was now a small Pokémon floating in the air of the corridor. Squirtle had thought he would have seen anyone in the corridor with his peripheral vision, and the corridor had looked entirely empty. Plus, the Pokémon stood out visually from the background, as its creamy white fur the color of Quil's underside contrasted the black rock of Cavetown. He chalked up the blunder to his preoccupation with the events of the day.

The Pokémon was a little smaller than him. He had two wing-like tails the same creamy color as most of his body, with three tiny orange fingers on each hand and two equally tiny orange toes on each foot. His eyes were unique in that they were entirely blue, with white pupils that looked like the sun amid clear skies. The friendly smile he flashed at Squirtle showed two tiny fangs, though this Pokémon looked even more innocent than the Jigglypuff from the cave behind Squirtle.

By far the most distinctive features of the Pokémon were his huge pointed ears, which appeared to form a crest atop his head. The vivid orange color of the crest took the distinctive shape of a 'V'.


	22. Grit

The hour was surely late. Squirtle was counting on winding down for the night, but this milky white Pokémon with the orange 'V' atop its head was likely interested in joining the team for taking back Blindhollow. Squirtle counted himself fortunate, as what other reason would this Pokémon have for approaching him? His striking up a conversation with Squirtle alone in an empty corridor made sense too, since this Pokémon must have been too shy to have stepped forward under the scrutiny of the commons' large crowd. The Pokémon's bubbly greeting was a mismatch for shyness, but Squirtle knew it could be easy to act confident in a one-on-one conversation as opposed to the populated setting of the commons. 

“I can't say it's been a bad day, so I'm doing well. How about yourself?” Squirtle replied.

At that, the Pokémon's cheery smile fell away for a moment. When it returned, there was a faint note of puzzlement in the Pokémon's face. It quickly evaporated.

“Good, good. That speech your friend made in the common area, or whatever it's called, was inspiring. Sounds like you two have done a bunch of traveling. I thought I'd ask you a question I have, since you must be well-informed.”

Squirtle prepared his response. 'Sure, thanks for finding me. You can definitely join us! We're leaving tomorrow morning from the front entrance to Cavetown.'

“Do you know where I can find Moltres?”

Squirtle closed his mouth on his ready-made reply. The floating Pokémon had asked an entirely different question than expected, one that he had no idea how to answer. Moltres was one of the three Legendary Birds. His memory told him that some Legendary Pokémon were more than mere legends in the human world. A few had been spotted or even battled by trainers and their Pokémon. Others remained myths that some denounced and some believed. Squirtle himself was not well-studied in the topic of Legendary Pokémon, but the Legendary Birds seemed plausible enough. Those weren't rumored to be able to control time and space, and they weren't said to have arrived on the planet via a meteor from outer space. Squirtle could believe that Moltres existed.

Where to find Moltres though? No idea. Did this Pokémon really think he would know? Legendary Pokémon were supposed to be nearly impossible to find. In order to find some of them, one had to have a pure heart, or assemble the ancient artifacts, or other such nonsense. That was in Unova. Where he was, in this land inhabited only by Pokémon, finding even a single Legendary may be impossible. According to Quil, they served only as the content for fantastical stories.

“Sorry, I don't have the slightest idea. Not to be rude, but are you sure Moltres even exists? You only hear about Legendaries in stories, don't you?”

The Pokémon gave him a patronizing look. “And who do you think you're talking to, Squirtle?”

The tone he used was strange, coming from this seemingly innocent bundle of fluff. Was this some famous Pokémon he should know about? While Squirtle could now recall more Pokémon since Ralia the Gardevoir's intervention, this species still eluded him.

Yet the Pokémon's words implied he was on the same level as the Legendaries they discussed. Squirtle struggled to keep any amusement out of his face. As if a Pokémon that rare and powerful would be speaking to him, a Squirtle, in a deserted corridor inside a mountain.

“I'm afraid I don't know,” Squirtle replied. “As Quil said in his speech, we're not from around here.”

The Pokémon cartwheeled through the air. “Yes, but Pokémon from all over know who I am! You're the first one to be clueless. When did you hatch?”

Just when I thought I was beginning to fit in with all the other Pokémon, Squirtle lamented.

“I know, I know, I'm strange. I don't know where Moltres is and I have a feeling that I'll never know, no matter how much traveling I do. Sorry I couldn't help you.”

“Fine, I get it.” The Pokémon glanced into the cave Squirtle had come from. “Do you think your Cyndaquil pal would know? He is a Fire-type.”

The Pokémon's shrill voice was beginning to get on Squirtle's nerves. “He doesn't believe Legendary Pokémon exist,” he said flatly.

The Pokémon floated upward, giggling up a storm. “Oh, he doesn't? I guess I can't blame him. If I never saw one, I wouldn't either! Smart Cyndaquil, right? Anyway, I can tell you've got places you'd rather be. Bye-bye, Squirtle!”

“Have a good night,” Squirtle said politely before turning away to head toward where he'd seen the diggers and miners at work earlier that day.

He heard no sound behind him, and wondered if a levitating Pokémon like that would make a noise when he floated away. If so, that meant the Pokémon was still there, probably watching him. Squirtle peeked backward over his shell. The corridor was empty once more.

That answers that question. They're silent. And wow, that Pokémon could move fast, getting out of sight that quickly.

As he walked, he automatically replayed the conversation in his mind since nothing else was occupying his thoughts. Something was odd about it. It was distinct, somehow. Squirtle could not put a claw on it, but talking with that Pokémon had felt different than talking to the Donphan outside of Cavetown, or Wartortle in Blindhollow, or any other stranger for that matter.

The work-in-progress was now a complete cave like the others. Inside, some branches and flowers rested on the ground in a feeble mimicry of a forest setting. Squirtle stood outside in quiet reflection for a moment before moving on.

Adjacent to that cave was a new site of excavation, but the carts were abandoned. This cave was not yet finished, so the workers must have been taking a break until morning. Dust still drifted in the air around the new tunnel. Squirtle sneezed once, then again. He was curious as to how much had been hollowed out, and if there were any themed features for this cave, but elected not to poke around. He hoped there would be enough room to comfortably house all the refugees. Otherwise Cavetown's early risers would be stepping over sleeping Pokémon strewn among the passageways.

Squirtle continued on a short walk to further explore the other Habitation Cavern wings. From the outside, every cavern was identical. Squirtle wondered how many of them had been recently manufactured like the one he'd came from. He dared not enter each one to take a further look around, as the privacy of the Pokémon within was likely all that some had.

By the time he made it back to Quil's side in the faux-grassland cave, the irritation regarding his conversation with the strange Pokémon had faded. Whatever aspect of the conversation had struck his subconscious as unusual was probably not important in the end. Tomorrow he'd be long gone on the path to Blindhollow anyway.

For a few minutes, Squirtle reminisced within his shell about the memories that had been returned to him. He remembered the good times as well as the low points. The successes and failures of that life were so bizarre in his current setting. Incompatible with life as a Squirtle. The differences were intriguing to explore. Cultural, physical, mental, and other aspects of life would be enjoyable to analyze and discuss after all was said and done. If he was ever human again. Titles for possible essays popped into his head until he drifted off into slumber.

* * *

After hours underground with only the dreary light of the fungi to see by, the entrance of Cavetown was blinding. The difference in light levels was so great that the outside world resembled a blur of white light. Squirtle was forced to squint as he ascended the uneven steps with Quil, who seemed more tolerant of the brightness. Of course, the Cyndaquil's eyes were better shielded.

Hayzin and Viper were already waiting in the morning light. Even at that early hour, a multitude of other Pokémon were also waiting, like the previous day. Waiting for friends or family to arrive? Waiting for word from their homes? Waiting for someone who would never come? Squirtle feared asking for the depressing answers he might receive.

“No one else coming to make some pow-pow in Blindhollow, eh?” Viper asked Squirtle with an accompanying pair of air-slaps by her bladed tail.

“Sadly, no,” he reported, blinking in the light.

Hayzin gently tossed his maned head and neck. “This group is smaller than the one we had when we met near Blindhollow the other day. I hate to say it, but maybe we should have combined parties there and faced Raizula together.”

No one said anything to that. Squirtle could feel the doubt in the air. Now they were all second-guessing the wisdom of going all the way back to Blindhollow with even fewer Pokémon than when they'd first met.

Quil started to say something, but then a new voice called over to them from the tunnel leading into the mountain.

“I was wrong.”

Bein emerged from Cavetown's maw, squinting in the brightness. He casually carried his bone on his left shoulder. The Cubone strode quickly toward them, but stopped shy of a jog.

“Bein!” said Squirtle and Quil together.

“I was wrong,” Bein repeated as he arrived. “Can't stand seeing all those refugees, but choosing only to make homes for them. And I hate that Raichu for what she took from me. I'm here to help you out.”

His bones, Squirtle realized. He's still sore about that. No doubt I would be too, were I a Cubone.

Hayzin and Viper shared a dark, knowing look with each other when Bein mentioned something of his being taken. Bein said nothing further, and Quil looked to be commiserating with the enduring sense of loss he felt. Squirtle recalled the way their Totter Seed had been taken.

This was no way to start a journey!

“Welcome to the team, Bein!” Squirtle said in an effort to raise everyone's spirits. Amazingly, it worked. The other three behind him gave an answering cheer.

Bein did not appear similarly uplifted. “That's it? 'Welcome to the team'? Don't you have a team badge? Some kind of emblem?”

Anxiety abruptly bloomed in Squirtle's chest. The sentiment of being a team was supposed to unite them and cheer them up. Was he about to lose a valuable fifth addition because of his lack of decorum? He should have had foresight, should have created a team name, had badges made by--

The others were laughing. At him, in fact. With a rush of heat to his face, Squirtle realized Bein had been joking. The temptation of withdrawing into his shell was almost too strong to resist, but he endured it as the others cracked up around him.

Introductions were made between Bein, Hayzin, and Viper, and then the five Pokémon were on their way southeast to Cavetown with no one looking back. It might have been Bein's Type and immunity to electricity that lent their group the confidence it needed, but Squirtle attributed it more to his personal presence. The Cubone was reassuring and firm in a way that he doubted he could ever achieve.

Squirtle was glad to have another small Pokémon as a teammate as he eyed the relatively huge Zebstrika and Seviper. He knew there was little correlation between a Pokémon's size and their strength in battle, but some part of him was still human. Size mattered. On the downside, Bein was another Pokémon whose facial expressions Squirtle had a difficult time reading. There were worse problems to have.

Though Squirtle recognized the landmarks of the route as they retraced their path, the mood was not the same. The optimism that comes with the beginning of an adventure. A sense of safety due to the group's size. Being mostly an easy downhill trek, the mood was easy to maintain. Especially as the route featured frequent beautiful views of Blind Prairie.

Squirtle figured he and Quil should lead, as they were most responsible for the team and its efforts. Quil looked ill at ease at having an Electric-type right behind him, but seemed to prefer walking next to Squirtle than anywhere else. Squirtle doubted he would be comfortable leading the other four in the front by himself. Viper and Hayzin took the middle of the formation. Bein brought up the rear.

For Squirtle's part, he more so felt odd that the Electric-type in their group was so passive with the immense amount of power at his disposal. It almost made sense that Hayzin should call the shots, but he made absolutely no mention of neither his Type nor his position as an ordinary member of the team. If he wanted to be treated as any other Pokémon, then Squirtle could grant him that wish.

Viper launched into a tale she called 'The Battle of the Psychic Crazies', in which she defeated twenty Psychic-types by herself. As the story went on, Squirtle noticed inconsistencies in the number of foes she faced, but decided not to mention them.

“A never-ending onslaught of them! You'd have to see it to believe it. Not sure if it's common knowledge, but Toxics like me are weak against Psychics. No way I was going to let that fact stop me from fighting back though! So when the first Alakazam came around the knoll, I stretched myself as high as I could, ready to strike.”

At that point in her story, the group rounded a large boulder bulging partway onto the path. Its shape was like a face, with a plume-like rock extending out the top. As the middle of their group passed it by, Squirtle heard Hayzin snort a warning. Viper halted in her story-telling, and they all stopped to look.

Eyes opened in the face of the boulder, and it extended forward as other rocks connected to it emerged out of a tunnel next to the path. In seconds, an entire Onix had snaked out of the tunnel in the mountainside. It roared the same sort of gravelly roar that the Graveler from the other day had produced, but much louder.

Squirtle dropped to his hands, the urge to fight flooding into his mind. He was not about to let some wild Pokémon keep them from their goal. The fate of Blindhollow was far more important than a random battle in the mountains! With the amount of firepower they collectively had, the battle would be decided quickly and favorably. All the better, to keep moving on as soon as possible.

As he allowed water to fill his throat, he heard the others preparing their moves concurrently. The Onix completed its roar and rose high into the air, supported by the rock segments lower in its body. Then its body arched and it slammed downward in the general vicinity of Hayzin and Viper. Both were struck. Hayzin received a glancing blow, and Viper hissed breathlessly as the Onix's hard body landed mostly lengthwise with her own.

Squirtle unleashed a Water Gun at the nearest rock segment, and in the blink of an eye, Quil had pounced at the segment adjacent. Having never seen him move that fast, Squirtle was faintly surprised until he recalled the instruction his friend had received from the Quilava. The Pokémon had called it something like Fast Attack. The Onix grumbled and turned its stony gaze on Squirtle. Apparently it hadn't enjoyed the Water Gun.

Bein was on top of the Onix, smashing its hard hide with his bone, but he slipped off when the Onix propelled itself uphill. Squirtle could see Viper had been on the other side of the Onix, approaching its head for some attack using her mouth. She stopped short as the Onix left her range.

Hayzin had also been on the other side of the Onix. Without its body blocking Squirtle's vision of the Zebstrika, he could now see the arcs of electricity dancing in his stiff mane. Even amid the noises of the battle, Squirtle's hearing zoned in on the low hum of the building electrical charge on Hayzin. An Electric technique was coming.

I'm out in the open! Squirtle yelled in his mind. He knew his eyes were wide. Any thoughts of attacking the Onix were gone. This was about self-preservation. Need to find a boulder to hide behind!

In the yellow light flashing from the electricity in Hayzin's mane, Squirtle saw the bright lightning bolt from Raizula the Raichu's cheeks striking Blindhollow's watering hole. The Zebstrika's eyes were fixed on the Onix's tail segments as it moved uphill. He charged uphill in a manner disturbingly similar to Stolt the Luxio closing the distance to pounce on Quil.

I'm fine, we're fine, he's attacking the Onix, not me, not Quil. No need to stop fighting. No need to panic. Just keep fighting the Onix. The Electric-type is on our side.

Hayzin clearly impacted the Onix's body, but instead of a cascade of sparks or thunderous echo, there was nothing. All evidence of any electricity vanished with the touch. Puzzlement flashed across the Zebstrika's muzzle.

Ah. So Onix have Ground typing as well as Rock.

By the time he'd calmed himself enough to ready another spray of water, the Onix was too far. He didn't notice any signs of fire being used by Quil, and wondered if his friend had been as paralyzed by the show of electricity as he had been.

The next thing Squirtle knew, rocks large and small were plummeting down on him from above as well as bouncing down the mountainside toward him. Discounting the idea of Withdrawing as inferior to a dodge attempt, he did his best to avoid the largest ones. He still sustained far more hits than was comfortable. By the positioning of the rocks, it seemed as though the Onix was trying to entomb him instead of just knock his lights out. He struggled to dodge the last of the missiles due to being surrounded by piles of rock. Clambering over them to escape took a few seconds, too.

As he came over the lip of the rock cluster, the earth and air began to rumble. Squirtle could feel the low-frequency vibrations shaking the rocks beneath his feet. He glanced up at the Onix and saw it undulating, perpendicular to the mountain's slope. A small avalanche formed below it as all of the loose rock uphill from the path tumbled earthward from the Onix's mass shaking the mountainside. Quil, Hayzin, Viper, and Bein were all caught in the rockslide, as it appeared they'd been chasing the Onix to land their attacks.

Was the avalanche of rock even a battling technique? Or was the Onix simply using its surroundings to its advantage? In any case, the four victims of the rockslide thankfully retained consciousness after the shaking had subsided. Viper in particular was sluggish, but Bein looked hardly weakened. Together, the four finally reached the Onix as it was raising its body up for another slam.

Squirtle followed his companions up the mountainside. He saw Quil spitting embers into the Onix's face, and Bein dealing more crushing blows with his bone. Viper seemed to be licking the Onix. Squirtle could only hope it was an attack, as the two tines of her tongue scraped against the Onix's rocky skin. Hayzin was shaking his white starburst of a tail at the Onix's face, causing it to bob distractingly. Perhaps he had little in his arsenal besides the Electric techniques that were currently ineffectual.

By the time Squirtle reached them, the battle was finished. The Onix allowed its posture to collapse in a clear indicator of surrender. The number of attacks it had sustained earned Squirtle's respect. Having endured a variety of Pokémon attacks, and seen more than a couple of fights, he knew what it was like to fight a losing battle. To struggle with a weakening body. For once it felt right to dip his chin in acknowledgment of the Onix's tenacity, even if its decision to fight was caused by an instinctual drive. The others performed the ritual in their own way. Viper's version looked quite awkward, as her head and neck hooked downward to point directly into the ground. A Seviper's bow.

The Onix lay still, watching them pass by with its eyes. Squirtle was relieved the fight hadn't pushed it to unconsciousness, or he would certainly have felt shameful. Five on one was hardly fair. He wondered if the average Pokémon would think so, or if the idea of a fair fight was a human concept.

“I didn't know Onix were Grounders as well as Rocks,” Hayzin said, back on the path. “Even after all of the traveling I've done, I continue to learn new things.”

“Looked like a bad Type match-up for most of us,” said Bein as he hoisted his bone back onto his left shoulder. “No issue for a group this big though.”

“Right, right, so where was I?” said Viper as she inched forward beside Hayzin. She continued her story where she left off, starting with a perfect bite onto the offending Alakazam as she simultaneously swiped her tail at two other Psychics who had supposedly teleported right behind her. Despite the outrageous story, Squirtle heard a new weariness in her voice. It told in the pauses between sentences, and the slightly duller enthusiasm at her description of the battle. He glanced back, and saw her red eyes were less lively than before.

The Seviper had received possibly the heftiest beating in the battle with the Onix, but they'd all been drained to some degree. It would only get worse the more battles they endured. Far from being a negative development, Squirtle considered the prospect of using and honing his skills to be enticing. The opinion he'd shared with Quil days prior of wanting to improve his battle prowess, reputability, and confidence had not changed. However, as when he'd been traveling only with Quil, taking time and energy to fight these wild Pokémon would significantly extend their travel time. Cavetown to Blindhollow wasn't far, but nor was it close.

The Seviper reached the finale of her story, in which the last of the Psychic Crazies succumbed to her poison and keeled over unconscious. Quil asked her if she'd really defeated that many Psychics at the same time, so Squirtle chose that moment to bring up the topic. Stopping Viper from answering would be the most tactful resolution of Quil's question anyway.

“I have an idea, and I'd like all of your opinions. Am I correct in saying that we all want to reach Blindhollow as soon as possible?”

“Yep!” replied Viper immediately. Bein, Zebstrika, and finally Quil each gave an affirmative as well.

“And it's also true that our pace will suffer the more we battle, right?”

This question gave the group more of a pause. Everyone did soon give some variation of 'Yes, I guess so.' Quil was looking at Squirtle with his chin tucked and his head tilted. A cheeky look. Quil had an idea of what was coming, whereas the others did not. Maybe Bein.

“Then we have to conclude that battling is out of line with our goal. But,” he added as Viper raised an objection, “I know that it's impossible to reduce our encounters with wilderness-dwelling Pokémon, besides by staying on the path. I have one solution, and I'm interested in what you all think about it.”

This seemed to catch their attention as they all marched, or inched forward in Viper's case, down the mountain path. A small gust of chilly wind swept across the open mountainside.

“What is this idea, Squirtle?” asked Hayzin, breaking the quiet on the lofty mountain.

Squirtle hesitated. He didn't have enough time to determine if the idea he was about to propose was orthodox in the Pokémon culture and philosophy, or if his leadership would be taking a serious blow by even mentioning such a crazy idea. Nothing for it now, though. He'd made the mistake of bringing up the topic before fully thinking it through, and now he might have to pay the price.

“Not all of us should battle when we run into wild Pokémon. Some fight to clear the way forward, and expend their energy doing so. That's no problem though, because the others who are sitting out are conserving their strength. I'm thinking Hayzin and Viper, you two wouldn't be battling. Then, you can give us a ride while we rest from the fight. Since you're so large, you can carry passengers. Right?”

Viper made the coughing hisses that Squirtle now recognized as laughter. “What a zongo idea, Squirtle!”

“Don't see any flaw in the idea,” Bein grunted after a moment.

“Nor do I,” said Hayzin slowly.

Quil simply nodded and smiled at Squirtle reassuringly. Here Squirtle was thinking he'd projected himself fairly confidently, but Quil saw right through the facade to the doubt he truly felt. Thankfully no one shot the idea down.

“I haven't given rides before,” said Viper in a reflective voice. “It'll be four hundred Poké per hour, got it? Ha, just joking! Sure, I'll do it Squirtle. Any battle looks too tough, though, I'll be there like that!” She struck the blade of her tail against a nearby rock to make an emphatic CLACK.

“Of course,” said Squirtle. “If our opponent or opponents present a dangerous situation, such as if they're Electric-type, we can all battle together. Otherwise, starting after the next battle, you can give us a ride. Great, glad that's settled.”

In fact, the matter did not seem entirely settled. Squirtle could practically hear some of his companions chewing on the idea. It must have been incredibly strange to them, the idea of not battling. This division of labor while traveling, too, was likely a novel idea. This could be the first time that they would not be charging gung-ho into a fight when it presented itself. Squirtle yearned to hear what they were thinking. Was he now a stranger? A being that did not think like them, and who introduced totally foreign ideas to their straightforward way of life?

The others yielded no answers. Their progress was slightly slower as they recovered their strength from the fight while walking instead of stopping to rest. They winded down the path toward the approaching treeline. Weird Wood. Squirtle suppressed all thoughts of the nightmare he'd experienced inside the creepy forest. He couldn't afford to go off the deep end in front of his companions.

The sense of exposure vanished as they entered the shadowy pine trees. Thousands of pine needles blocked out the sky. Even so, the amount of color in the surroundings skyrocketed as they left behind the grays of Heartless Heights.

“Ah, there goes my natural camouflage,” said Hayzin drily. Quil and Viper chuckled, but Squirtle could only manage a smile. Next to Quil, he was leading the group through the wood. Missing the path and getting them lost would be on him. More pressingly, if a wild Pokémon saw them coming from up ahead, it would spot him first. He accordingly should be the first to notify his group of the threat. His eyes needed to be peeled. Not a difficult task, since he would have been constantly scanning the gloomy trees anyway to reassure himself that nothing was watching him.

This trip through the relatively thin strip of Weird Wood was marginally less spooky than the last for Squirtle. The size of their group helped to push away the unsettling influence the forest had had on him. Nonetheless, the eerie atmosphere was relentless. He tried to focus on the task ahead. The wood wouldn't get the best of him when so much was at stake.

The only bump in the journey was a chance encounter with a Venomoth living in the nearby trees. It fluttered over to engage them as soon as Squirtle noticed the conspicuous lavender amid the foliage and warned his companions. As per Squirtle's instructions, Hayzin and Viper stayed put while Bein, Quil, and Squirtle trotted off the path to meet the hostile Pokémon.

The Venomoth vibrated its wings faster than Squirtle's eye could follow. The sound buzzed outward, filling the air, and seeming to press in on his head from all directions. The effect was irritating, but not nearly enough to stop him from advancing along with Bein and Quil.

“We need fire! Quil, Ember, blast it with Ember!” he called out.

Quil stopped in place to aim his snout up at the Venomoth fluttering fifteen feet in the air. When he opened his mouth, a red glow could be seen within.

“I'll try to distract it,” Squirtle muttered partly to the others, but mostly to himself. With that goal in mind, he let his body wave his blue tail back and forth like a flag at the Venomoth. The Pokémon's beady eyes were captivated by the motion but only for a moment. Its gaze jumped back to the fiery glow that had built within Quil's mouth, and it fluttered away toward Bein.

Bein leaped six body-lengths up one of the countless pine trees, planted his legs, then propelled himself at the Venomoth to deliver a solid headbutt using the smooth crown of his skull helmet. The Pokémon cried shrilly as Bein landed back on the forest floor. It fluttered erratically for a second until Quil's embers roiled upward into the air, engulfing it. Squirtle shielded his eyes against the sudden light.

His Ember isn't getting any worse, that's for sure! That brightness is like an attack all on its own.

The thought diverted his attention only briefly. He readied his go-to move, the Water Gun, but a partly blackened Venomoth swooped into the airspace above his head. Purple flakes drifted off the back of its diaphanous wings. Whatever the substance was, Squirtle was positive it would not be healthy for him. He hadn't forgotten the bout with the Butterfree's powder in Root Forest.

Squirtle spun around, located the nearest tree, and rushed to get behind it before the blanket of purple flakes could reach him. He underestimated their falling speed, however, and felt an itch begin on the surface of his tail and right arm.

“Those're poisonous, Squirtle!” he heard Viper shout from where she waited on the sidelines. “I know it's too late now, just trying to help,” she added somewhat apologetically.

Great. Paralysis was a barrel of fun, so I'm sure being Poisoned will be twice as wonderful.

Completely unsurprisingly, a wave of nausea passed through his stomach. The world blurred for a moment. His innards felt like they weren't sitting right inside of him. He peeked out from behind the tree at the fight, trying to ignore the growing queasiness.

The Venomoth had increased its altitude and was now swooping over Bein for another sprinkling of poison. Quil wasn't in plain sight. Squirtle could only hope another Ember was on its way.

“Use the tree trunks as cover!” Squirtle shouted into the fray. He hoped that using his voice wouldn't cause him to throw up in his mouth. “Don't stay in the open!”

Bein chose to do the reverse. Instead of fleeing from the Venomoth's poisoning technique, he repeated his maneuver of leaping partway up a tree in order to launch at his opponent. As the flakes drifted off the Venomoth's wings, the blunt end of Bein's bone slammed into its thorax from above in a powerful overarm blow. The Venomoth cried sharply again as it spun downward to earth. When it landed on the dark forest floor, it did not take to the air again. Its wings fluttered weakly.

Quil emerged from behind a tree on the opposite side of the Venomoth from Squirtle. The glow in his mouth vanished as he made a swallowing motion.

If that's not the best way to get heartburn, I don't know what is.

Squirtle walked up to the Venomoth as well, once the few poisonous flakes from its second wave had settled to the ground and faded. Every step made the queasy feeling swell. He pictured purple tendrils creeping outward from his belly, like rivulets of venom seeping through him. Begrudgingly, he gestured his respect to the Venomoth with Bein and Quil. Hayzin and Viper joined them with short words of congratulations.

“Pecha are best for counteracting poison,” said Quil as he looked concernedly at something on Squirtle's face. “But I don't think we've seen any so far.”

“The poison'll go away real quick-like, Squirtle, if you relax and don't move much,” said Viper. Her tongue flicked out into the air next to Squirtle, as if to taste the air. “You're not Poisoned very badly, don't worry!”

“Remind me again why we don't travel with supplies like Pecha Berries?” he snapped.

Idiot. Stop being so whiny. The worst that will happen is I pass out. Big deal.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “Never been Poisoned.”

Still, his question generated an uncomfortable pause. No one seemed to have a good answer, or they were unwilling to put forth their opinion. Hayzin finally spoke.

“I think it best if we start moving. How do you want to do this, Squirtle?” He sounded unsure of how the simple procedure of 'mounting up' should be tackled.

Squirtle swallowed another annoyed reply and did some quick thinking. They'd want to split the load between the Zebstrika and the Seviper. Bein was the shortest, and likely the least heavy. Squirtle knew his shell probably weighed more than he thought, since he 'wore' it all day. He must be the heaviest. Thus he should be a solo rider, with Bein and Quil paired up. Sticking the Ground-type on the Electric-type made sense, for safety reasons, but Squirtle knew Quil would be very nervous sitting atop an Electric-type. So would he. Nevertheless, balancing the weight to create physical comfort was more important than psychological comfort. He made a compromise.

“I'll hop on your back Hayzin, and Quil and Bein can ride on Viper, if that's fine with all of you.” When no objections were raised, he easily jumped up onto Hayzin. The Zebstrika's mane bent downward to accommodate his weight, but the hairs were still stiff. Thankfully he had a hard shell to protect himself, in place of a saddle. He gripped the base of Hayzin's thick neck, riding the small swells of nausea that threatened to sap his energy.

Bein and Quil hopped onto Viper's body close to her head as well. Once she started inching forward, they sidled up to the peaks of her wave-like body. Bein crouched low and held on for extra stability while Quil hugged one of the golden hexagon and oval patterns on Viper's spine. The position reminded Squirtle of their swim across the Karp river to reach the ferry. Quil had probably looked just like that on top of his shell.

Riding a Pokémon was not new to Squirtle, since he'd ridden a Gogoat as a human. The memory would have made him smile, if he wasn't Poisoned. He felt Hayzin's muscled shoulders shift beneath him, and tried to move his body along with the Zebstrika's as he'd been taught as a child. With only tiny Squirtle legs, and no stirrups or any other tack, he was skeptical of how applicable his experience was to the current situation.

Hayzin finally replied to Squirtle's earlier question as they continued down the path. “To me, carrying around a bag of supplies for all possible situations would be more hassle than help. For example, I wouldn't want to bring Pecha Berries with me while traveling, because I'm not often Poisoned. Even were that the case, all such ailments fade away eventually. Are the weight and fuss of the supplies worthwhile?”

“Yeah, what he said!” added Viper while moving her head about enthusiastically, much to the dismay of her two passengers. “Sure would be nice having an Oran to chow after every rough battle, but I'm not lugging an Oran bush around with me.” She brought her head around to face Bein where he clutched her back. “Don't squeeze so hard, you're making my scales itch!”

“Used to walking,” said Bein apologetically. “I agree with you two about the supplies,” he added, directing his voice at Viper and Hayzin. He then looked Squirtle's way with a silent question in his manner.

“I see your point,” said Squirtle after some consideration, “but you're likely talking about battles that don't matter in the grand scheme of things. A friendly battle to test strength. A quick skirmish over territory. What about battles for which the outcome can change everything? What about a battle that would decide the fate of an entire town?”

He could tell his point had hit home. Even Bein, who was so difficult to faze, looked down at Viper's scales in thought.

The deep shadows of the forest floor grew shallower as the tree trunks and pine needle foliage thinned out. The five travelers emerged from Weird Wood. The path winded down through the short-grassed foothills and ultimately into the ocean of ochres and greens called Blind Prairie. Squirtle carefully stood up and peered around the right side of Hayzin's neck, extending his tail to the left to balance himself. He couldn't be sure, but in between the bumps of Hayzin's hoof-falls, he thought he could see the tiny bare patch miles away that belonged to Blindhollow. With his eyes on their destination, he spoke again.

“In those cases, I know I'd be thanking my lucky stars that I'd brought what I needed for a worst-case scenario. That day might come sooner than you think.”


	23. Gathering

Fi dipped her two-tone tail into the wash basin once again. Her mother said that when she was still an Eevee, she would soak and comb her tail three times in a row. Three it was for her mother, so three times it would be for Fi. Even when darkened by moisture, the almond and hazelnut colors were beautiful together. She could already picture her bushy tail gleaming once the sun rose a bit higher, as it did every day.

Fi dragged her comb through the long, silky strands of her tail using her mouth. Though her tail was soaking wet, saturating the woolen towel beneath it, the sensation of the comb smoothing and shaping her fur was wonderful as always. Her sister had used the comb every day until she became a Leafeon and her tail transformed into an embodiment of her new element. However, she hadn't passed it onto Fi until a few days ago, when she'd fled Blindhollow. A parting gift that Fi cherished by putting it to good use. As long as she groomed her tail with the comb every day, her sister didn't feel quite as far away. Maybe she was thinking of Fi right now in return, wherever she might be.

With her tail in prime condition, Fi lugged both the wash basin and her bucket back into her room. The house was empty nowadays. Empty of occupants, save herself. Empty of sound, of movement, of joy. Empty of life. Its location on the outer ring of Blindhollow only exacerbated the solitude of Fi's daily existence. Even though most of her friends and acquaintances in Blindhollow had not managed to get away, they were never in the mood for conversation anymore. Always, it was discussion of what needed to be done for the day, or what they'd lost, or Raizula's newest law. Serious matters. Fi curled up with her tail in front of her nose.

Amidst her planning for the eleventh time how to flee Blindhollow without being seen, her ear twitched. Someone was coming...from outside? From outside Blindhollow? That meant a traveler who would have to pay the toll, or worse. A traveler who was wasting their time coming to what was once a wonderful tourist destination, but was now the last place anyone would want to be. Why were they coming here? Hadn't word spread? Wouldn't every Pokémon know by now not to visit Blindhollow?

Now Fi could tell the sound was coming from multiple 'mon tramping down the western path toward the outer ring in Blindhollow's design of concentric rings of buildings. To be more precise, they were walking toward her house! She peeked around her doorway, and her heart fell. None of them had any possessions on them, which meant they couldn't pay the toll.

In the lead were a Cyndaquil and a Squirtle. She recognized them immediately as the pair who had been caught by Keer the Mandibuzz and brought before Raizula a few days ago at dawn. They'd been lucky to be released having only offered a seed. Fi had envied them as they walked cautiously out of town without penalty. She couldn't fathom why were they coming back.

Their demeanor was entirely different now though. They walked not quite with a confident swagger, but nonetheless evenly and with determination. The Cyndaquil's expression was hard to read, but the Squirtle's jaw was set. His eyes focused on her. Fi wanted to shrink out of sight, but they'd all seen her now. Hiding would be pointless if they wanted to talk to her. Besides, there was some emotion in the Squirtle's eyes when he looked at her. Sympathy, or even just the desire to speak with her.

Dwarfing the two small Pokémon in the lead were Hayzin and Viper. She knew both of them well, since she'd hatched in Blindhollow and gotten to know all the townsfolk. Viper was the boisterous type, always challenging others to battles or spending days fighting wilders for practice. Hayzin she liked better because of the stories from far and wide he would tell. With Hayzin, you knew every word was true and factual. Were it only Hayzin and Viper, she would have called out to them and asked them why they'd come back, but the strangers surrounding them and their sense of purpose stopped her.

Amazingly, those two were looking around Blindhollow cautiously, as if they hadn't lived there for years. Viper had that characteristic challenge in her red eyes. Fi suspected that was more from habit, and less from a desire to take on anyone in the town. Hayzin eyed the familiar surroundings more passively, like he was soaking up the mood. When he saw her peeking out, a small smile appeared on the end of his muzzle. She barely managed to return it.

A Cubone was in the back of the group. Fi could see it through Hayzin's legs. She wasn't sure what to make of it, thanks to the skull covering its face. It looked to be holding its bone really tightly, but maybe it always did.

“Come with us,” said the Cyndaquil once they'd all arrived at the doorstep of her family's erstwhile home. His voice was low, but expressive. “Today we're ending the rule of Raizula. Everyone in Blindhollow can join us.”

Fi couldn't help but sputter out a laugh. She looked incredulously at Hayzin and Viper. Using head gestures, both of them silently suggested she return her attention to the Cyndaquil. Their expressions were serious. She complied, focusing again on the little Cyndaquil. He was only an unevolved 'mon, and though his words were steady, he didn't sound completely convinced himself. In fact, his words sounded rehearsed. They didn't flow like casual speech. Fi was not the boldest Tauros in the herd, but her sister used to always remark on how perceptive she was.

“You met with Raizula. You know what she's capable of! She's not alone, either. What are you going to do against them?”

One of the Cyndaquil's hind legs began inscribing circles in the dirt. He appeared to glance at the Squirtle, who shook his head faintly, before facing her once again.

“You'll see, if you come with us. You shouldn't have to live under a 'mon like Raizula. No one should. Not here, not in Heartless Heights, not in Wildfire Fields, not anywhere!” His leg stopped. “We're going to fix Blindhollow. Will you come with us and see?”

All five of them watched for her answer. She tried to bury her face in her furry collar, but as always, couldn't bend her neck enough to do it. The attention of so many on her was intimidating. How could she give an answer when they weren't even letting her think?

“Listen,” the Cyndaquil continued. She twisted her ears forward even more to better hear him. “All you'd have to do is follow behind us. No danger, no eyes on you. I think I know how you feel.” He chuckled. “Never thought I'd be doing this, myself. I really think it'll be okay in the end. Come with us, please?”

Viper's head was almost quivering with what looked like a great effort to keep her mouth shut. Her bladed tail slashed the air above her. Hayzin gave Fi a nod and another soft smile, but she could tell it was a show to make her feel at ease. The Cubone was inscrutable and made no reaction, but the Squirtle smiled and nodded as well. She didn't know him at all, but she guessed that was a show too.

The Cyndaquil at least sounded sincere. By the time he'd finished talking, she knew everything he said couldn't have been a preplanned speech. His enthusiasm was almost infectious. The fact that he was traveling with two 'mon she'd known all her life meant that he was trustworthy to a degree, too. What did she have to lose? She'd go with them, but only so long as she wasn't involved in any confrontation with Raizula and her close supporters. And only so long as she could stay out of the focus of attention.

“Alright, I'll come with you. Where are we going?”

The Cyndaquil gave a little cheer, throwing his forelimbs up. “Next we're going to visit your neighbor, whoever that might be!”

* * *

Not bad, Squirtle thought as they moved onto the next building in the ring with the Eevee in tow. Whether it was a house, a shop, a cafe, a bank, or even Wartortle's Seed Nursery, the plan was to vacate the building of all of its Pokémon and keep moving. With luck, the plan would continue smoothly as they spiraled down to the center of Blindhollow. Then...well, he didn't want to think about then.

Fortunately Viper had been able to master her urges to blather some encouragement to the Eevee during Quil's speech. One of the purposes of gathering Blindhollow's residents was to radiate confidence and competence, not to get friendly with everyone. Not only was there insufficient time for that, but Squirtle needed to properly prep their group's appearance and reputation should they somehow succeed at Blindhollow. In spite of the plan, Quil's speech had derailed and become something more organic. Squirtle allowed himself to relax though. What Quil said had worked. More support for the decision Squirtle had made in Cavetown for Quil to do most of the talking.

The evolution of Axew waited at the next door. Squirtle could not recall its name, despite the restoration of most of his memory. Broken? Breaker? Something like that. Quil began his dialogue the same way as with the Eevee, word for word. The rest of them remained silent. Squirtle tried to look encouraging and fearless.

“You're ending her rule?” the Pokémon exclaimed, and his voice grew fierce. “Let's go! She'll pay for her attitude. She thinks she's the Kyurem of Blind Prairie, she does. What are we waiting for?” He leaped out next to Viper, who had to bend her body to avoid a red-tipped tusk.

Squirtle traded a look with Quil. That was easy, his face said.

As the group continued, growing all the while, Squirtle found that most of Blindhollow's denizens had a disposition somewhere between the Eevee's and the evolved Axew's. Some needed no persuasion, others needed firm encouragement. Sometimes, Squirtle motioned for Bein at the back to prod or otherwise get some of their timid followers to step out of the crowd for visibility. He figured the Pokémon they were trying to persuade would see the Eevee, for example, and join them if only to not be that one Pokémon who stayed behind. Other times, the Pokémon they were trying to convince would take one look at Hayzin, and join them at once. Evidently his Electric typing was enough confidence for them.

Some Pokémon they met were unashamedly eager to shake things up at Blindhollow, but some only agreed to follow and watch whatever was bound to unfold from a safe distance. Some displayed no reluctance at openly displaying their allegiance to Squirtle and Quil. Yet one Scraggy, in the second-to-outermost ring of structures calmly explained that they were bound to fail before Raizula's superior might and leadership. That comment nettled Squirtle's ego, and he fought to keep his mouth shut. Quil looked more deflated than angry, and moved on without defending himself.

Not every Pokémon agreed to tag along and observe the proceedings. Squirtle secretly smiled when he noticed three out of every four that claiming they would stay put had nonetheless stepped into the trailing crowd at some point. Hardly anyone was willing to miss what was about to happen. His smile soured when he realized once again exactly how responsible he was for the fate of Blindhollow. If he could not pull his weight, if his plan was faulty, if he made a misstep, everyone would know and everyone would suffer for it.

By the time they arrived at the halfway point in their downward spiral through Blindhollow, Pokémon were coming outside of their own accord to see the commotion. Most entered the crowd soon after to ask whomever they knew best what was happening. That saved Quil the trouble of having to stop at doors and convince the Pokémon to follow them. Their door-to-door displays of bravado had become a self-sustaining parade.

Squirtle eyed the Flying-types circling the crowd, and wondered if Chando the Charizard could hear the fuss on the surface from within his dark cell. Of course the Charizard had not made an appearance, but a different familiar face had: Wartortle. It was neither the place nor the time for a conversation, but Wartortle made his support clear in the grave nod he gave Squirtle from the crowd's outskirts. In Wartortle's arms were ten or twenty seeds in a variety of shapes and sizes. Squirtle lacked the expertise to identify them with alacrity, but he certainly recognized a couple. He wondered why the Wartortle was carrying seeds around with him before being distracted by a glimpse of the water at the crater's center.

Now outside the innermost ring, Squirtle could see the watering hole through the alleys between buildings. The sight stirred a longing in Squirtle's heart as usual, but the feeling was demolished by the sight of Raizula atop her treasure hoard. Unlike the first time he and Quil had met her, she was standing in front of her throne. She faced the huge gathering of Pokémon making the final circuit around Blindhollow, the picture of brooding malevolence. Eyes narrowed, lips frowning, ears twisted backward and down, tail swishing restlessly behind her.

Squirtle tried to stare daringly at her from his position at the head of the crowd, but when sparks fell from her cheeks, he lost his courage. He looked instead to the skies and spotted Keer in the air above Raizula's hoard, no doubt gathering an accurate report for Raizula's ears. The Sandslash and Persian were also present in the same positions as they had been a few days prior, even though the hoard had become larger. The Persian, for one, looked rather uncomfortable, which raised Squirtle's spirits some.

At last, the moment arrived. Quil, Squirtle, Hayzin, Viper, and Bein continued their march directly into the center of town. Here there was nowhere to hide. Here, Blindhollow would learn its future. Squirtle stopped forty feet away from Raizula, the Sandslash, and the Persian, with the pool of water on his right. Forty feet was too far to be comfortable speaking distance, but with a hostile Electric-type on the other side of those forty feet, even that distance was barely large enough to offer a measure of comfort. Keer swooped down out of the sky, landing on Raizula's chair back and beginning to murmur through her beak into Raizula's ear.

Squirtle stole a glance behind him over his aqua blue tail and stifled a 'No!' of disappointment. Very few of the Pokémon they gathered had joined them in actually approaching Raizula for a confrontation. The Axew evolution, a Turtwig, and a Herdier were the only ones. The rest of the crowd was spreading out so that each Pokémon could see and hear what was said. The encircling movement naturally resulted in a half-circle of spectators far enough from the action to probably be safe, but close enough to not have their view obstructed by the inner buildings.

If it came to an all-out brawl, Squirtle conceded that their forces outnumbered Raizula's, but he also knew that Keer, the Persian, and the Sandslash were not to be underestimated. The individual skill and experience of the combatants were greater determinants of any fight's outcome than the numbers on each side. They would need all the help they could get. With luck, one or two of the Flying-types circling Blindhollow's center would dive down to help them if a battle broke out. The silhouette of a Pidgeot high above was especially threatening.

The movement of the crowd ceased. Every one of them was quiet. No growling, no whispering. They had an air of expectation. Squirtle wanted to say they seemed hopeful and excited, but their expressions told him the reverse. After all, even those who'd been so enthusiastic and supportive when Quil spoke to them had now abandoned them for the safety of the crowd when a showdown seemed imminent. If Squirtle had to guess, he would say that the Pokémon of Blindhollow were here to see what happened, not in anticipation of a successful revolution.

Did Raizula appear that invulnerable to them? Surely she could be brought down, one way or the other. Couldn't she? Raizula faced them down with a deep frown. The Sandslash and Persian had stood up from their relaxed positions, and Keer the Mandibuzz watched attentively from the back of Raizula's throne.

The plan called for Quil to start talking right about now. Squirtle watched his friend's fire with his peripheral vision. If it began to falter, he would do his best to speak. That was part of the personal plan he had for himself. His fear was groundless, as Quil projected his voice even louder than his usual. He'd had practice as of late.

“Raizula, I said this the last time we met, and now I say it again because nothing has changed. What you're doing here in Blindhollow is wrong! Pokémon should not have their lives controlled by a ruler they never asked for. Pokémon everywhere should be free to hold onto what is dear to them. Pokémon should be able to freely enter and leave communities, and to travel or settle as they please.”

Quil shuddered, and the vibration was visible in his fire as well. His voice quieted but swelled in conviction. “It's wrong, so wrong how the Pokémon around you are forced to live. Can't you see that? Can't you see the injustice you've created? Just because you're a Zapper with all of that power, doesn't mean you're any better than the other Pokémon here. It doesn't mean you're allowed to abuse everyone around you!”

For a moment, as the sound of his shout faded from the air, Squirtle saw Raizula's expression soften. Quil's words might be making an impact.

“I'm only a Cyndaquil, but I won't watch this suffering continue while doing nothing. My family lives in a grassland a lot like this one, and I would never wish this kind of life on them. I'm here shouting up at you Raizula not only because it's the right thing to do, but because I would do the same for my family!”

When Quil spoke next, he used the level tone of voice with which he'd first spoke. Back to the rehearsed speech.

“I ask you now to step down from the throne you've built at the cost of your fellow Blindhollow and Blind Prairie Pokémon. I ask you to return what you've taken, to declare Blindhollow free once more, and to never again take on the role of tyrant to any Pokémon. I ask--”

Raizula broke in with a peal of laughter. “Tyrant? Cyndaquil, I'm a leader. My power unites everyone. It makes the area safe under my protection. Don't you think there are some wonderfully strong Pokémon in the Prairie that would get the wild in their eyes and, oh, I don't know, attack Wartortle's Nursery for its seeds? Do you think maybe this town needs a guardian? Someone who won't hesitate to unleash lightning on every threat?”

Squirtle almost took a step back in his surprise. What a wily Pokémon! He had not expected a thoughtful, reasonable response. Raizula was actually raising a fine point, whether it was true or not. The truth would be hard to prove. Talking was good though; he could work with a discussion like this.

Raizula hadn't stopped talking. “It's not my fault that 'mon have been leaving Blindhollow, nor is it my fault that not everyone here is satisfied with some decisions I've made. I've only done my best to protect Blindhollow.” Her teeth gleamed as she smiled.

“Your 'toll' has taken away the valued possessions of most if not all of the Pokémon here!” Quil retorted. “And I bet those with no possessions at all aren't allowed to leave!”

The accusations gave Raizula pause, but she soon found her bearings. “I've found that the lovely gifts I've received are much safer under my watchful eyes and the eyes of my...close advisers.” She gestured with her tail at the Mandibuzz, Persian, and Sandslash. “No one here wants their things damaged or stolen by anyone living in Blind Prairie, or by their fellow Blindhollow Pokémon. There are some truly crazy Electrics out there. Crazy Pokémon, crazy times to live.”

She paused. “Oh, and what you said about Pokémon not being allowed to leave: I love Blindhollow, I really, honestly do. I only want everyone to stay and enjoy it more. I want Blindhollow to be a fabulous place to live, and it can all happen under my firm but benevolent rule. Nothing needs to change here.” She smirked. “You're wasting your time shouting, little Cyndee-quill. You'll tire yourself out.”

Squirtle began to snarl on Quil's behalf, but cut himself off. Resorting to snarling in front of the crowd would not improve his image. How cruel, to poke fun at Quil's naturally quiet voice in front of so many Pokémon. His desire to depose Raizula doubled in that moment. She was going down. How though?

The crowd had reacted with some measure of surprise to Raizula's words. Apparently they'd never heard her address them before, or she'd never justified her tyranny with specific reasons. Now, when she finally had spoken, she spoke with guile. If Squirtle could shut her down logically, win that debate, maybe the crowd would lose their complacency. The crowd was everything. With the full force of the crowd of Pokémon on his side, anything was possible. Words would be his most powerful attack here.

“You call yourself a leader,” he called up to Raizula for all to hear. “I call you a bully. No one asked for you to come here and change everything. No one wanted you to safeguard their possessions, or to protect them from whatever threats you've made up in your own head. That's bullying, not leading.”

Raizula drew herself up, and her cheeks discharged some short-lived sparks. Squirtle forced himself to continue. If she lost her head and shocked him outright, he'd be a martyr figure. Provoking her might be the solution to fully gain the crowd.

“There's no progress here. All I see is stagnation. You want Blindhollow to be a fantastic place to live? You've only made it worse. Blindhollow is the saddest place I've visited in my travels, actually. The societies and settlements that grow and prosper are the ones led by the selfless. You're a selfish Raichu that's abusing the Electric boost at the cost of all the Pokémon you see around you. I'm sure it feels great, you vile Pokémon, but it ends today.”

Squirtle himself felt great, to be able to vent his anger and speak so savagely to Raizula in front of an attentive audience. Yet the reaction he got out of the crowd was not what he wanted. One by one, their heads turned to face Raizula. They were gauging her reaction. Watching her face contort with rage. Waiting for the explosion. There was no inspiration or righteous outrage written on the faces of the crowd. Only fear.

Every eye was on Raizula. Her words shook with hot fury. “Enough. I'll tear that smile off your face, you tiny upstart. The time for talk is over.”

She raised her head and swept her forearm across the semi-circle of the crowd. “All of you! Those loyal to me, or those who fear my wrath, come here. Fight with me. This'll be over in a moment, so join the winning side or face some very unpleasant consequences. Now!”

Squirtle's resolve was shaken, and Quil said nothing. No one from behind them spoke up. Raizula had the floor, and she was fully exploiting that fact. The crowd broke apart as roughly a quarter of the Pokémon scrambled forward to the treasure hoard. The ones who did not come forward retreated to the inner ring of buildings to watch from the shadows. With admirable courage, some of the crowd rebelled against Raizula's direct order by joining the small band behind Squirtle and Quil.

After a rough headcount, Squirtle felt like his breath had been forcibly ripped from his lungs. The battle would be thirteen versus approximately fifty. No chance. In a minute or two, he'd be blasted personally by a furious Raichu. He had no idea where or in what condition he would wake up, if at all. Fighting with thirteen versus fifty would be pointless. A better strategy would be to cast off all dignity and honor, then sprint out of Blindhollow.

As he considered those thoughts with his stomach tossing and turning, his eyes roamed over the opposing force. Some of them were examining the collection of possessions during the lull. He saw more than one expression shift from fear to resolve. One Furret's tiny paw fingered a pink bandana fondly, and it openly glared up at Raizula. The bandana matched its fur quite nicely. A pair of Torchic whispered to each other, and one of them glanced at Raizula as its expression darkened. Then it glanced at the nearest Pokémon, a Furfrou, and its feathers puffed up slightly. It looked like it was planning to attack a member of its own side.

Maybe there was hope after all.

Quil found his voice once more. “Raizula's rule ends right now, and you can be a part of it! Don't fight against us, help us!”

Raizula screamed one word as yellow sparks flew: “Attack!”


	24. Change

The battle-cries of the various Pokémon in the center of Blindhollow joined together to become a spirited roar. The collection of squeals, chirps, shouts, snarls, hisses, and yells was so loud that Squirtle felt the ground shake under the onslaught of sound. He charged forward with the rest of the Raizula opposition, caught up in the furor of the moment. The cries of Flying-types rained down, followed by the Pokémon themselves. Grass, Water, Fire, and other elements were manifested as combatants readied their techniques.

By the time Squirtle regained his head, pulling out of the battle frenzy that his Pokémon body had embraced without his permission, he'd already landed a Tackle on a Nincada, taken a glancing blow from a ball of crackling purple darkness, and shot a sloppy Water Gun in the general direction of the Pokémon around Raizula. The fight was hectic, unlike anything Squirtle had hitherto experienced. Despite that fact, the plan his team had crafted remained their best shot. He turned in a circle to take in the state of the battle and see what his companions were doing.

Viper was heading down the battlefield toward Raizula's throne. Squirtle could guess why: she wanted to be the one to take down the Raichu. Viper had been the least receptive to the group's planning efforts on the way to Blindhollow, so Squirtle was hardly surprised by her intentions. Still, they needed her fighting against Raizula's allies. Squirtle had barely seen her fight but had a feeling she was an experienced battler. Any hot-headed and energetic Pokémon was bound to have ended up in plenty of fights throughout their life. Viper would tear through the opposition, but instead she was choosing to fight an Electric-type.

Fortunately, Squirtle spotted the black and white stripes of a familiar Zebstrika doing what they had agreed upon. Hayzin galloped into the heart of the enemy force, and not a single Pokémon got in his way. While Squirtle had not known of Hayzin's typing when they'd first met, it seemed everyone else in the battle certainly knew to avoid him. The Zebstrika reared up onto his hind legs. Yellow electricity jumped among the stiff white hairs of his mane. Squirtle curled his toe-claws into the dirt and forced himself to stay still. This electricity was on his side. At least the foreboding hum of the electricity's build-up was inaudible over the cacophony of the large-scale battle.

A flash of yellow light. Thunder filling the crater. Countless bolts of electricity connecting Hayzin to every Pokémon within twenty feet. A moment of breathtaking power.

If Squirtle had hair on the back of his neck, he knew it would be standing on end from the feeling of the air during Hayzin's attack. And if Squirtle were not a Water-type, he knew his eyes would be dried out from the intensity of the flash. A stricken Venonat fell senselessly to the ground. A blackened patch of his purple coat of fur began to smoke. A Bidoof met the same fate. Instant knock-out, smoking fur. A Pokémon Squirtle's height, yellow with pink petal-like structures framing its face, lost its footing. However its eyes remained open after being hit by Hayzin's bolt. When it did not stand up, Squirtle peered closely and saw its body shaking as Quil's had after being Paralyzed by the Electrike on the path.

He was doing a count of the Pokémon downed by Hayzin's discharge of electricity when a stream of flames blazed by, engulfing the Turtwig next to him that had been throwing stiff leaves from its head at some opponent. Squirtle dodged away, but not before his left arm had been singed. The sensation of spreading weakness, although meager, reminded him that he needed to keep his wits about him. He stood near the rear of the battlefield, but that did not mean he would not be a priority target for some. Especially Raizula herself. He glanced up at her to ensure she was indisposed.

The throne was empty. The Raichu was not there. Nor, from what Squirtle could see from his low height, was she at the base. Where had she gone? He hadn't noticed any Electric techniques besides Hayzin's, so was she staying out of the battle? He recalled the look of fury in her eyes at the end of their conversation. No, she would be fighting. And if she could, she would be going for--

He heard the hum of an Electric technique gathering energy. His eyes flicked to Hayzin, who was repositioning himself for maximal damage on his next attack. The hum was definitely not coming from him. A nearby Arcanine leaped to avoid the slash from some Pokémon that Squirtle could not recognize, and then Squirtle could see her. Raizula. Her cheeks were spitting bright sparks; this time they were not the mere byproduct of her emotions. These sparks had a bright white core. Her tail pointed upward behind her, stiff to match the anticipation in her angry eyes.

Squirtle felt his blood had turned to ice. He dropped to all fours to prepare to dodge, but if he was being honest with himself, it was pointless. Dodge electricity? He'd be better off trying to out-dig an Excadrill. There was nothing he could do.

How, though, had Raizula reached him without being stopped? Wasn't keeping her occupied in the event of a battle integral to the plan to take back Blindhollow? He knew he'd arranged for a distraction or counter-measure, but it was almost impossible to think in the face of Raizula's impending wrath. He clenched his fingers and toes. Raizula threw her arms up and unleashed a white bolt skyward. Squirtle saw it descending to strike him a split second later.

Someone's foot ground down on his shell above his arm, using him as a springboard. Squirtle was shoved roughly into the ground. He couldn't see what happened above. No shock came, though. Nor was there a resounding echo of crackling electricity. It was as if the bolt had been entirely and instantly neutralized.

Ah, right.

Bein, reliable as always, landed beside him unscathed. Squirtle tried to say something, but Bein spoke first.

“Saw her going for you. Changed the plan.”

Squirtle nodded, and quickly replied. “Thanks. We're fine as long as her electricity isn't a factor in this battle.”

Bein playing bodyguard wasn't his role. Squirtle was expendable in this battle. If Raizula was personally going after him though, Bein could effectively keep her out of the fight by simply protecting Squirtle. That didn't mean Squirtle was going to make it easy for her. He darted away, trying to lose the Raichu in the chaos of the battle. 

After a time, he decided to go on the offensive. Bein would do his job. His side of the battle was outnumbered, so he would have to do his part to have a chance of success. The nearest targets to him were a Pidgeotto mid-dive, and a Chikorita on the ground. His eyes narrowed. The Pidgeotto was aiming for a Cyndaquil, Quil, who was actively engaged with the Chikorita. The Chikorita screeched something at Quil like a growl, and he cringed in response.

“Quil, dodge!” he shouted.

Quil's head spun to look at him. The Pidgeotto had almost reached its target. Then Quil threw himself sideways, landing hard on his belly. The Pidgeotto slammed talons-first where Quil had been, before taking off once more to gain altitude.

No time for long conversation. “I'll take the Pidgeotto, fire that Chikorita!”

Quil's snout followed the Pidgeotto as it flapped to gain altitude. He seemed surprised that he'd dodged the attack.

“Right!” he returned, refocusing on the Chikorita. Its body, for the moment, appeared to glow in the morning light. Some move with which Squirtle was unfamiliar.

The Pidgeotto was circling now at an altitude of some thirty feet. Squirtle wanted to use his surroundings to get closer for a Tackle, but the only option was the nearest ring of buildings. Too far, and he'd be wasting time. Yet he'd also be wasting time by waiting around and reacting to its next dive. A long-range Water Gun was his only choice. Hitting a moving target at that distance would be difficult, but not impossible. He felt on point today thanks to the practice he'd had in the wild on the way to Blindhollow. Quil and Bein would be too. They'd been battling at his side the last couple of days as Hayzin and Viper conserved their strength for traveling.

As he anchored himself for his shot, he wished his Water Gun wasn't literally hit or miss. His stream would either intersect the Pidgeotto's flight path, or it would arc harmlessly through the air and spatter the pool of water in the middle of the crater. If there were some way to expand its area of effect as it traveled through the air, or if he could slow down the Pidgeotto, he'd be a lot more effective.

Squirtle aimed his face at a point marginally ahead of the Pidgeotto then filled his mouth with water. This time, with that longing fresh in his mind, his body responded with a suggestion. He allowed his lungs to leak air into the powerful stream of water, and the aperture formed by his lips widened. What emerged from his mouth was not a stream of water, but an outflow of thick, wet bubbles.

It took a level of control that Squirtle barely possessed to keep the technique going. Too much air turned the flow into little more than high-speed water droplets, but too little air made the flow a stream of froth, like sea foam. His mouth, too, needed to be perfectly shaped to allow the spherical bubbles to be formed. As a result, he could only maintain the new move for less than two seconds.

The bubbles did not move as quickly as his habitual Water Gun, but they covered a larger cross-section. While not quite a cone-shaped attack, the bubbles had a volume to them that a simple stream of water could never match. The bubbles caught the light beautifully, glistening so as to look innocuous.

Those bubbles sure are pretty! thought Squirtle with admiration. He felt bubbly himself from producing something new out of his Water Gun. I bet Water-types call it 'Bubble'.

The Pidgeotto could not veer away in time. It flew into the blockade of bubbles. They burst forcefully, dowsing its feathers in water and blasting it backward. The Pidgeotto regained control of its flight right before it hit the ground. A second too late. Its crash-landing placed the dripping Flying-type near Squirtle's own position.

Evidently the Pidgeotto was a seasoned battler as it counterattacked without missing a beat. Its talons swiftly scratched up the ground, loosening it, and then it hopped backward with two forceful wing-beats. The loose dirt billowed into Squirtle's face, getting in his mouth, nostrils, and especially his eyes before he could shield himself. He brushed the dirt away as best as he could, blinking rapidly to clear his watering eyes.

Now that the Pidgeotto was ground-bound, Squirtle elected to try a Tackle. That move would be easier to land without clarity of sight, too. While dashing toward the Pidgeotto, a thick purple plume of gas expanded outward from some duel happening to his side. He skirted the edge of it, curving around and launching himself at the Pidgeotto. Unfortunately, due to his unclear vision, he couldn't make the last second-adjustment to the Pidgeotto's dodge. What felt like a wing battered the back of his shell as he passed, sending him sprawling.

This Pidgeotto was a tough opponent. It would certainly be receiving that show of respect from him, if he won. The odds of that happening were grimly low though. Squirtle looked quickly around the battlefield as he stood up, trying to formulate a winning strategy. Already, about half of the combatants were down for the count. Some of them looked to be out cold, but most appeared either too weak to continue fighting or were afflicted by some ailment like Paralysis. Quil, still nearby, had defeated the Chikorita, and was currently helping a Herdier fight Raizula's Persian.

Squirtle couldn't see where Raizula and Bein were, but Hayzin was still up and running. The Zebstrika headbutted a Sentret while electricity arced in his mane, and with a yellow flash, the Sentret was launched an astonishing distance. The crackling of electricity echoed in the crater as the Sentret fell out of sight beyond one of the buildings in the inner ring. Squirtle could see awe on the expressions of those Pokémon who had witnessed the move. His own eyes were wide.

Idiot! he berated himself after a second. You're supposed to ignore the Electric-types, not goggle at them. We talked about that; not being distracted is one of the only advantages we have over the other Pokémon here!

He tore his gaze back to the Pidgeotto as he wiped his eyes again. Overall, the battle that raged around him was still going poorly. That meant winning each of his own battles was paramount. Yet the Pidgeotto was stronger than him! It would wear him down faster than he could wear it down.

His train of thought was cut short as the Pidgeotto flapped up a violent gust. Squirtle instantly lost his footing and rolled backward once, but he was able to hug the ground and resist the wind as it howled past his head. Holding firm against the wind sapped his strength. While the Pidgeotto kept up its technique, Squirtle's eyes swept the battlefield again, looking for inspiration, something, anything to help him win.

This time, he noticed Wartortle of the infamous Nursery and his armful of seeds. While not quite in the thick of the battles, Wartortle had nonetheless placed himself in harm's way. He carried fewer seeds than before all the fighting had begun. Curiously, the Wartortle met his eyes immediately, like he'd been waiting for Squirtle to look at him from across the battlefield. Once eye contact had been made, Wartortle raised a single seed between two claws for Squirtle to see, placed it on the tip of his mouth right below his nostrils, and tilted his head upward.

What is he doing? Putting on a show in the middle of this battle? Squirtle wondered. The Pidgeotto's wind died down. A great time for a violent reply of his own, but Squirtle stayed his attacks. The Wartortle was doing something specifically for him.

Wartortle shot the seed toward Squirtle borne on a tiny Water Gun, like a single toot of a horn.

“Blast seed!” called Wartortle, before turning away and moving out of sight toward Raizula's hoard. Squirtle understood. Wartortle had seen him in a tough spot and chosen to assist via what he knew best: seeds. Squirtle had little doubt he was supplying the others that fought Raizula too. 

The seed arced right to Squirtle's face. A perfect shot by Wartortle. To be expected, from an evolved Water-type. Instead of snatching it with his hand, Squirtle saved some time by catching it on his tongue. The Pidgeotto eyed him, waiting. As Squirtle stood, he crunched the seed in his mouth.

Immediately, his mouth felt like he'd tried to take a bite of Quil's fire. He tried to spit out the seed, but his mouth was yanked wide open by a torrent of flames. Like a Squirtle-turned-flamethrower, he spewed the fire all over the Pidgeotto, leaving no room to evade.

As quickly as it had begun, the effect ended. The only remnant of the seed was a lingering heat in his mouth. He doubted he could tolerate chomping on another Blast Seed for a good while, but thankfully the seed had done its job. The Pidgeotto lay prone on the ground with its wings extended but immobile. It looked blankly back at him as steam curled off its feathers.

Squirtle filled his mouth with water to try to rinse away the heat as he inclined his head in respect for the Pidgeotto's strength. No time to wait for a response though. He spat out the water and trotted away, looking for another Pokémon to battle. For the next one, he'd be disadvantaged by the weariness he felt from the Pidgeotto's attacks. On the other hand, every Pokémon on the battlefield would have taken a hit or two by now.

Seeds are a game-changer, he thought as he made for the water's edge. If everyone on my team had a few Blast Seeds coming into Blindhollow, we would've had a far better chance.

Nearby, Squirtle could hear an electric hum building up. His head snapped to the sound to identify whether it was a friend's or foe's electricity. He began to heave a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was Hayzin. Then he saw Raizula's Sandslash rake its thick claws along Hayzin's flank, heedless of the crackling electricity. Hayzin's front legs crumpled. He fell to his side with a tired sigh.

“No! Hayzin!” Squirtle shouted, reaching out his hand.

Hayzin going down stabbed guilt through Squirtle's heart. He was responsible. More importantly, the loss meant their chances of winning the confrontation had just plummeted. As an Electric-type, Hayzin was integral to the plan. Now the plan was useless. Without that advantage, coming to Blindhollow had been a mistake.

They still stood a ghost of a chance, however, so long as Raizula's electricity continued to be negated by Bein. Then they would simply be outnumbered, instead of outclassed by an unnaturally powerful Electric-type Pokémon. Squirtle scanned the battling Pokémon for signs of either of them. He found nothing even though the majority of Pokémon were unconscious, close to it, or otherwise disabled. Raizula must have been far away from him, which was always a good thing.

Something slimy slicked along his shell beneath his arms. He glanced down to see a long, pink thing wrapping itself around his body. Immediately he bent his legs and sprang upward to slip out of the thing's grasp, but he found that the translucent layer of slime covering it was not slippery, but sticky. It maintained its grip around his shell, moving up and back down with him. Squirtle followed it to its source: a rotund pink Pokémon about six feet tall. The pink appendage was its tongue. Lickilicky.

“Raizula!” it called. “I hab da Zquirtle! Raizula, Raizula, da Zquirtle iz here!” The Lickilicky's voice reminded Squirtle of a child trying to please a teacher, to get in her good graces.

The tongue wrapped tightly around him and squeezed for a few seconds. Squirtle resisted by trying to pull the tongue away with his hands and claws. He could ease the pressure in some places, but he still felt like a sponge being compressed despite his nearly inflexible shell. When the tongue stopped squeezing for a moment, he shouted out his own call for help. He had been trying to keep a low profile as a priority target, but the jig was up now that the Lickilicky had announced his location in its resounding voice.

“Quil! Bein! Someone!”

The tongue squeezed again. Squirtle withdrew into his shell and pushed outward which successfully reduced the compression, if marginally. When he popped back out, he was met with the one sight he'd wished not to see.

Raizula. Her run became a walk when she saw his head stick out over the Lickilicky's tongue. The anger still burned in her eyes, and her lips twisted to match them with a grin of anticipation that showed her sharp white teeth. Behind her, a Chespin was showing its respect to a fallen Cubone. Bein. Bein had been defeated, leaving Raizula free to move and to act.

Squirtle let his body go slack. The battle was lost. Blindhollow was lost. Their plan had sounded great in theory, and each of them had been optimistic. In hindsight, it had been flawed from the beginning. Squirtle and Quil needed to take down any hostile Ground-types. They'd even known about the Sandslash ahead of time. Of course it would be focusing on Hayzin. And Squirtle should have given Viper a talking-to about her reckless defiance. If he'd made sure she did her part, maybe the outcome of the battle could have been better.

It was his fault. His responsibility. He'd shouldered the burden, forced Quil to make the speech in Cavetown, tried to lead. He'd thought he and Quil could make a difference for all the suffering Pokémon. All of it was crashing down and the only one he could blame was himself.

He glanced outside the battlefield at the crowd of over a hundred Pokémon watching. Now they'd all be watching him specifically. Raizula was about to dole out justice to one of the main instigators of the attempted revolution. No one would want to miss this. Squirtle no longer blamed them for staying back and hiding during the melee. They were the smart ones who knew when to pick a fight and when to recognize hopeless odds.

The tongue squeezed again. He didn't bother to Withdraw. Better he passed out from weakness before Raizula shocked him. It'd be easier that way. He realized that the Lickilicky wouldn't be able to keep up its tongue-wrap technique forever. No Pokémon could maintain its move indefinitely. But even if Squirtle broke free now, Raizula would get him. She was almost within what he estimated as the accurate range for her lightning attack. Pointless to struggle. Pointless to come to Blindhollow. All pointless.

“Squirtle, I'm coming!” Quil raced along the water's edge, lighting up its surface with the his fiery reflection.

Quil, no!

Squirtle wanted to tell his friend to run, to get away, but he couldn't get a full breath in. If only he'd resisted the Lickilicky a bit longer, he wouldn't have been squeezed quite so tightly. He might have had the breath to yell at Quil to stay back. In desperation, he shook his head rapidly as best he could with his restricted range of motion, mouthing the word 'No' over and over to Quil. Couldn't Quil see Raizula? Was he that focused on Squirtle and the Lickilicky?

Either the Cyndaquil didn't see Squirtle's gestures or he didn't want to listen. He came to a stop, and Squirtle recognized the signs of his Ember technique warming up.

Raizula walked ever closer. “It's been fun chasing you Squirtle, but the game's over. You've earned every volt of this Thunderbolt! Keep him Wrapped, Lickilicky.”

Squirtle could see the exact moment that Quil knew he'd made a mistake. The Cyndaquil's head twitched to Raizula and he froze up. The fires in his mouth vanished. While moving, Quil hadn't seen Raizula. He had been too intent on his goal.

“Run,” Squirtle finally managed to croak with his precious supply of air. “You'll...be next!”

Please run, Quil, please! I don't want you to get shocked too! It's a waste, all of this is a waste. Save yourself! He willed the words over to Quil like he imagined a Psychic Pokémon would. There was nothing else he could do. The Lickilicky would easily be able to compensate for the recoil produced by his Water Gun or Bubble, and he couldn't move his body to aim at the Lickilicky's body or tongue. He was doomed. If Quil would just run away, he could relax and await the inevitable.

He continued to shake his head at Quil even as the tongue squeezed once again. Quil's expression shifted rapidly between emotions. Squirtle struggled to translate them. First, the surprise of seeing Raizula about to electrocute Squirtle. Indecision and distress followed right after. Lastly, an emotion that Squirtle neither wanted nor expected to see.

Resolve.

“I won't let Raizula win!” he shouted in his small voice.

Quil's head bowed as his tiny chest inflated with a powerful breath, and he placed his forelimbs lightly on the ground in front of him. A sprinter's start. The spikes of flame were blasting out of his back with an intensity that Squirtle had never seen.

Hope flickered inside Squirtle. If his friend was going to give his one hundred percent, what right did Squirtle have to give up? Even if the battle was lost, even if Raizula was about to use her Thunderbolt, how could he let Quil do all the work? Squirtle was going to go down, and probably Quil too, but that was out of his hands. All he could do was go down fighting. Wasn't that the attitude he promised everyone in Cavetown?

Squirtle thrust his arms down between his shell and the sticky tongue. Summoning every ounce of his might, he pressed outward against the tongue. His tail quivered with his efforts. He strained, expanding his shell to its limits from within. The Lickilicky's tongue shook with the exertion of keeping a tight hold on him. Still, he remained Wrapped. Squirtle let up on the resistance, panting as best he could. In a few seconds he would try again and hope that it was enough.

Sparks sprayed out of Raizula's cheeks as she began to build up an incredible amount of electricity. Squirtle swore her short fur coat was glowing from the lightning inside her body. Her preparation was dragged out, either to enjoy the anticipation or to have time raise her technique to its most powerful level.

As the electrical hum saturated the air, the old fear rose up in Squirtle's chest. Then he glanced to Quil. Squirtle borrowed from the fiery defiance that he saw. Fear wasn't going to paralyze him. Today, he would fight.

Curiously, Quil's body looked to be glowing, too. Squirtle blinked and wondered if his eyesight was still affected by the dirt from the Pidgeotto. However a second look confirmed that every inch of Quil's body was shimmering. The flames on his back brightened and their hue bleached. Quil's entire form gleamed with white light. Squirtle squinted into the luminescence, entranced by Quil's radiance.

Quil's fires split. Half of the flames migrated downward to form a horizontal line above his rear, and the other half became a vertical line along his skull. Triangular ears flipped up to flank his head fires. His snout blunted. The diminutive, simple legs and forelimbs he used to have quickly developed into two hind legs and two forelegs with three toes each. All the while, his body swelled and lengthened, giving Quil the build of an agile quadruped. His head and body were no longer two distinct regions; both were incorporated into his new streamlined physique.

“No Quilava can stop me from having my way,” Raizula snarled as Quil evolved. “Not even a Typhlosion can!”

The hum had faltered for a moment as she was distracted by witnessing a Pokémon's evolution, but her Electric attack's build-up had not crumbled. She took one more step forward and prepared to fire off her electricity.

The twin groups of Quil's fires regained their orange and yellow color, like color bleeding into the white sun as it sets. The brilliant glow shining from Quil's body faded. The evolution was complete. For the first time, Quil opened his ruby red eyes.

In a flash, he was gone.

Through the tongue, Squirtle felt the Lickilicky being struck by Quil's sudden attack. The tongue loosened for a split second before trying to tighten once again around Squirtle. His resistance had done its work though, and the Lickilicky's response was too slow. Squirtle grabbed the sticky tongue where it met his shell and hoisted himself firmly downward. He slipped out as the tongue constricted nothing but air. He filled his mouth with water in mid-air, then glanced up at Raizula as he landed on his feet.

The Raichu threw up her arms and screwed up her eyes, the immediate precursor to the Thunderbolt's manifestation.

Squirtle shot the water out as hard as he could with no care for aim. His head jerked back and his body followed. The concussive shock wave from the Thunderbolt striking the ground sent him into back-flips and took away his hearing. Suddenly he was immersed in water, and sinking.

His vision slowly came into focus as he observed the surface of the water becoming peppered by a swarm of dirt clods from the sky. The smaller ones dissolved while the larger clumps sank, drifting past him. When he opened his nostrils, he could smell the nearly pure water becoming marginally tainted by the dissolved dirt particles. His muscles tingled uncomfortably, especially those in his legs and tail. The rest of him felt heavy with weariness even with the water granting him weightlessness. He had not completely avoided the electricity from the Thunderbolt.

The sound of a roar from a great deal of Pokémon reached Squirtle underwater. His hearing was returning. What were they all yelling about though? With a start he recalled the importance of the situation outside the water. The losing battle, Quil's evolution, Raizula's angry attack. Squirtle had not been entirely alert as he sank through the water. Quil was still out there, facing Raizula alone! Besides, Raizula couldn't possibly miss Squirtle again if she followed up with another Thunderbolt into the watering hole. He needed to get out there.

Squirtle knew he was nearing his limit, but he could still fight. Now of all times, he had to push through the exhaustion. He retracted his arms and legs, and waved his tail back and forth to propel him upward. At the last second, he popped his limbs back out, swept the water downward with all five limbs, and shot out of the water.

He landed awkwardly back on solid ground, stumbling and falling before getting back up. Not only were his legs weak and tingling, but the condition of the battlefield had totally caught him off guard. Where previously a few isolated battles raged amid a landscape littered with defeated Pokémon, now the violence had been rekindled by at least fifty newcomers who had previously watched from the inner ring of buildings.

The new battles were ludicrously unfair in favor of the anti-Raizula party. Squirtle saw a seven-on-two here, a four-on-one there, and a few more Pokémon unconscious or almost unconscious that had been fighting for Raizula two minutes prior. The difference in numbers had never been more uneven. This time however, Raizula was on the losing side. He spotted the Sandslash and Persian among the ranks of the senseless.

Squirtle quickly located Raizula. She stood surrounded by twenty or so residents of Blindhollow. Quil and Viper were part of the circle nearest to Squirtle. He hastened to join them. If he missed Raizula's defeat, he would never forgive himself. She'd blasted him with her lightning. She'd bullied, robbed, and mistreated an entire town. And, she'd made fun of Quil's soft voice in front of everyone.

“Give up, Raizula,” growled one of the townsfolk, an Arcanine, with bared fangs. Others shouted their own words. Battling techniques were readied by many, and every Pokémon was tense. Most of them had fear written all over their faces, and Squirtle wondered why they only now had the courage to face the Raichu.

“Give up? You're hilarious,” she said. The words came out calm, hollow. Her anger was gone, along with her bravado and imperious air. Slowly, she closed her eyes to the Pokémon surrounding her. A few sparks popped out of her cheeks. These were paltry specimens, as if Raizula was cracking a little joke or producing electricity just to show that she could. Squirtle wondered what was going through her head. Everyone knew what would happen should she show even an inkling of using her Electric-type moves.

He was not at all surprised when no fewer than ten projectile attacks were launched at Raizula, though the vigor of the response was impressive. Raizula did not even attempt to dodge. Had Squirtle been in her position, he would have jumped straight up, allowing each of the attacks to hit the Pokémon on the other side of the circle. It would have been a very effective strategy, he was sure. Raizula, despite her self-confidence and her awareness of the power at her command, had chosen to not fight. She still possessed the power to defeat every Pokémon in Blindhollow on her own. She'd submitted to her fate, when she could have fought. Or at least escaped. Squirtle filed away the peculiar behavior for future thought.

When the dust cleared, Raizula lay unconscious with her fur completely mussed up. Squirtle allowed himself a slight smile as he pictured the Raichu's reaction to her disheveled, powerless appearance. Then he lent his voice to the vivacious cheer that erupted from every Pokémon's throat.

Raizula had been deposed, and Squirtle had a strong feeling that no one, Electric-type or not, would be able to reign over Blindhollow ever again.


	25. Gift

The morning was still young, but already Blindhollow had been transformed into a brand new town. The sun sparkled on the waters of the pond beside the mound of the town's possessions. A Herdier knocked the chair that had once served as a throne off of the mound. It clunked against the dirt, and the Pokémon nearby cheered as they plucked or excavated their belongings from the assortment. Most of Blindhollow's residents however formed a loose crowd around the fallen Raizula.

“Squirtle, you're okay!”

As with the evolution of his body, Quil's voice had changed to become different, yet still similar to the way it had used to be. That softly passionate quality remained, but his voice had grown louder and slightly deeper with his larger frame.

The newly-fledged Quilava dashed to Squirtle and nuzzled him with the soft fur of his face. Squirtle was thrilled to see Quil had made it through the battle in one piece, too, and returned the sentiment with a hug and pat on the back. Rather, he tried to, but he could no longer get his arms around even the front of Quil's new body. Plus, even summoning the energy to lift his arms had his body complaining.

“Wow, you're small!” Quil remarked, looking down from a height twice Squirtle's own.

“No,” Squirtle laughed. “You're big! How did evolution feel, big guy?”

Quil smiled shyly as he noticed the crowd watching their interaction closely with expressions of amusement or joy. Squirtle found talking with Quil to be easier now that he could see his friend's eyes. Currently, they shone with relaxed delight.

The eyes really are the window to the soul, he mused.

“How did it feel? Strange. I felt this energy inside me break loose, stretching and pushing every inch of me. It was hotter than fire! The experience was definitely positive though, the whole time.” His hind paw began to brush through the dirt in the shape of a circle, but it stopped as Quil looked down at it and wiggled his toes. “It's hard to describe, now that I'm trying.”

“I think I can understand a little bit how it feels to be in a new body, if you catch my meaning,” said Squirtle, mindful of the crowd. “I'm surprised you were able to act so quickly after you'd just evolved!”

“At the end I felt...capable. So I went for a Quick Attack.” He frowned down at Squirtle. “I wasn't going to let you get shocked. Not after what we've been through.”

Squirtle was in too good of a mood to reflect Quil's serious demeanor, but he kept his words somber even if he couldn't keep the smile off his face. “Trust me, I appreciate it. You acted right in the nick of time. It was perfect. We won because of that, you know. Somehow. I'm not sure...” He trailed off, not wanting to reveal how clueless he was in front of a sizable portion of Blindhollow's Pokémon. They had a reputation and image to uphold now.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” said a Furret with a pink bandana around her neck to Squirtle and Quil. It was obvious she'd been waiting for their conversation to lapse before she spoke up. “I finally have my favorite bandana back, and we'll have visitors to Blindhollow again. I can't wait! Thank you! And congratulations on the evolution!”

On the heels of the Furret's thanks, two more Pokémon began to speak at the same time. The Braixen motioned for the Raticate to go first. He chattered out a matter-of-fact string of sentences. “You've done good here today, you two. My whole family thanks you. Even my cousin Renny, and he's not a nice Raticate. You should be proud. Congrats on the evolution, Quilava.” His eyes jumped to Raizula. “I'm ashamed I didn't join the battle sooner. She's not a Pokémon you'd want to cross. Come by our nest in the inner ring houses if you need anything.”

The Braixen smiled broadly and bowed to them both before beginning. “I can finally leave Blindhollow to gather the supplies I need to continue my sewing and embroidery work. It's all thanks to Viper, Hayzin, that Cubone, and of course you two. You want anything made or mended, anything at all, you let me know, alright?”

And so it went. Most Pokémon insisted on thanking them and congratulating Quil on evolving, and most offered to help them out in the best ways they knew how. Gradually, Squirtle began to understand what exactly had won them the battle. The spectators had been torn between wanting to restore Blindhollow by defeating Raizula, and fearing her retribution should she win. While Squirtle was Wrapped by the Lickilicky, Quil's actions had been inspiring. He'd shouted his determination to not let Raizula win, proving his dedication to his cause. He'd shown courage by facing down a Lickilicky and Raizula herself. And he'd shown his camaraderie by saving Squirtle. All in full view of the spectators. The evolution was icing on the cake, seen as proof of his heroism and inner strength. That spirit of courage, dedication, and camaraderie had been infectious, and a good fraction of the bystanders had responded with the same spirit.

Unexpectedly, Squirtle was faced with a new Pokémon custom: gift-giving. A pair of Pidgey draped a square of orange cloth over Quil's forelegs as he stood on his hind ones, insisting that they take the gift in return for making things right in Blindhollow. The cloth was unremarkable but for the golden thread forming an elegant but jagged pattern around the center. Quil bowed his long body as he might when showing respect to a worthy foe. He did not even attempt to refuse the cloth, though Squirtle wagered that Quil felt undeserving of receiving an actual gift. Evidently there was more to gift-giving among Pokémon than Squirtle understood. He was glad the Pidgey had dropped the gift on Quil instead of him.

The Pidgey explained that the cloth was known as a Special Band, and could be folded and worn anywhere on the body to reap its benefit. They said that the benefit, as best as they could understand, was an increase in the effectiveness of one's elemental moves as long as the band was worn. As if letting them in on a secret, one of the Pidgey whispered that the cloth was rumored to have been worn by Ravar, a Staraptor famous in stories for her legendary skill in aerial battles. They said the Special Band had absorbed some of her signature Sky Attack move's power for all time. Squirtle was eager to examine the cloth in more detail, and even try it out, but he refrained from being distracted during this almost formal occasion.

Interspersed between the gift-less Pokémon were others who insisted on providing material proof of their thanks. Each time, Quil accepted the gift without complaint, though he definitely looked to be uncomfortable with the gratitude. Squirtle personally found the gifts to be unnecessary, but he greatly appreciated the kindness. He wanted to thank the Pokémon for their presents but politely refuse, except he feared that in this culture, rejecting a gift without offending the gift-giver was impossible. All accounted for, they'd been given the Special Band, a lovely blue ribbon with no special properties, and three bags of coins totaling an unknown sum. Quil placed the cloth and ribbon on top of his thick neck, and Squirtle tied the money bags to the two ends to keep everything anchored.

When the parade of gratitude finished, Quil looked more than slightly embarrassed by all the praise and idolizing. He laid his head low while on all fours, his new natural stance. For Squirtle's part, he tried to take it all in stride. They'd accomplished something great. He was proud though he tried not to let it go to his head. He sensed the crowd was still looking for something from them, a final word or grand finale. Squirtle took the lead on giving a speech to save Quil further embarrassment.

“You are all very welcome, and thank you for all of the kind words, offers of services, and gifts. Please realize that it wasn't exactly us who stopped Raizula today. It was all of you. We only had to show you that if you stand together, no one Pokémon can ever rule you. Together, you can prevent anything like this from ever happening again. That's all I have to say,” he finished feebly. Not an inspiring speech, but hopefully it satisfied their expectations of him as a leader.

“What do we do with Raizula?” asked the Arcanine. All eyes returned to Squirtle again. He looked at Quil, buying time. His friend's eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head. Squirtle thought he followed Quil's train of thought: 'The Prison? No!' Squirtle folded his arms and focused on the problem. Even if they threw her in the Prison, she could probably break out. The Electric boost was obscene in how much power it granted. Perhaps counter-measures could be designed and implemented, but the whole idea seemed backward. He'd already said that no Pokémon could rule them if they stood together as Quil and he had shown them. Why did Raizula even need to be locked away?

“What do you do with Raizula? This is your town, not ours. But if you ask me, there's no need to lock her up. There will always be Electric-types. No amount of chains or brute force will stop them. Unity, confidence, courage – those will be your protection.”

He turned away from the crowd and the attention, hiding a strained smile from the corniness of his speech, but he remembered one detail that had been nagging at him and turned back. “Oh, and all of those Pokémon who sided with Raizula and fought against you today, don't hold it against them. They only joined her because they didn't want to get on Raizula's bad side, just like most of you who stayed on the sidelines. You're all Blindhollow Pokémon at the end of the day, remember that.”

While some of the assembled Pokémon nodded agreement, many looked confused. Squirtle realized he must have used too many human expressions or said something very non-Pokémon. He suppressed a sigh of annoyance. This was in large part why Quil needed to do the talking. The damage was done though. He stepped away with Quil and waited for the spotlight to pass. After a brief discussion with Quil, Squirtle went to take up a Rufflet on her offer of using her home as a place to stay as long as they needed.

On the way to the Rufflet's house in one of the middle rings of Blindhollow, they passed by Viper. She was chatting up a storm at the center of a small crowd of her own. She agreed to meet Squirtle and Quil at the Rufflet's place later on in the day, once she'd caught up with some of the Pokémon she knew. Viper was particularly excited about Quil's evolution, going so far as to neglect the other Pokémon in favor of asking Quil questions about how tough he felt. Quil answered them until Squirtle not-so-subtly indicated that they should get going.

After, they found Hayzin where he'd been defeated by the Sandslash. Quil explained there was nothing that most Pokémon could do to help a Pokémon who'd fainted in battle. Only Pokémon with healing abilities, such as Audino, could be of use. Thus, it was common practice to simply leave the unconscious Pokémon alone until they regained consciousness naturally. That level of neglect felt cruel to Squirtle, but he logically agreed that he could do nothing to help Hayzin.

Luckily, the Zebstrika stirred as they spoke around him. Hayzin was greatly pleased by the news of their success at deposing Raizula and restoring Blindhollow, despite his groggy state. He congratulated Quil on his evolution with a note of surprise in his tone, and agreed to meet them at the Rufflet's house once he'd recovered and talked to a few of the Pokémon around town. He offered his own house in Blindhollow as a meeting place, but Squirtle said he didn't want to go back on accepting the Rufflet's help.

The pair found Bein sitting on the ground and leaning on his bone. Bein expressed pleasure at the team's success in the battle. He almost sounded happy about it, too. Squirtle made it a point to thank Bein for personally contending with Raizula and absorbing her Electric moves. The Cubone grunted, then explained that Raizula had called for support in taking Bein down once she realized how effective of a counter he was. He'd been quickly laid low by four Pokémon too scared of Raizula to disobey. The Chespin landed the finishing blow. Quil offered to carry Bein up to the Rufflet's house to rest, but he said he'd prefer the dirt where he was until he felt up to hiking up the crater slope.

Finally, Quil and Squirtle followed the Rufflet's directions to a spacious but messy two-room house. The smaller room looked like a simple kitchen or dining room judging by the food stains and leftovers in the corners. The larger room was breezy from all of the windows, including one makeshift hole high up in the wall facing uphill that looked to have been created by unprofessionally ripping up the wall. Feathers, bowls, cups, empty nutshells, paper, straw, and other refuse were scattered around the floor amid the sole furniture of a table, posts for perching, and a high stool with a straw nest on top. Squirtle regretted not inspecting the place before accepting the Rufflet's offer, but when the Rufflet herself landed on the hole in the wall near the ceiling to check up on them, Squirtle was polite and grateful. She fluttered off leaving Squirtle and Quil alone for the first time in two days.

Quil clearly did not mind the mess as much as Squirtle, as he settled down on some loose feathers with no hesitation. Now that he was a Quilava, when he curled up, his body was long enough to actually curl. He was now opposite to Squirtle's rigid and discrete body plan. Quil smiled self-consciously as he wrestled with becoming comfortable in his new body, and Squirtle helped unburden Quil from the gifts on his neck.

“So much for evolving at that volcano,” Squirtle remarked as Quil struggled.

“I know!” said Quil. “I don't get it. I was supposed to go to Iyrodenin to evolve like every other Cyndaquil: my parents, my brother Quindo – every other Cyndaquil I've ever heard of! Why did I evolve so soon? We're not even close to Iyrodenin.”

Squirtle speculated on the possibilities. The first was obvious. Quil had been lied to. Squirtle did not know Quil's family and their reasoning behind lying to Quil and sending him away, but Quil had no proof that the volcano would do anything. Only word of mouth, and the fact that his brother had left home a Cyndaquil and come back a Quilava. The volcano's power might be a hoax.

“Quil, is it possible that the volcano, Iyo...whatever, isn't responsible for a Cyndaquil's evolution? Is it possible that your family...wasn't entirely truthful?”

The Quilava recoiled at the words. “No, no, that can't be right. My father isn't the type of 'mon who tells lies. My brother wouldn't...though he did sometimes act funny when I talked to him about his journey.” He shook his head. “No, the Pilgrimage is a journey that every Cyndaquil takes, and we're all told to go to the same place. How could a lie survive for so long in so many places, so many families?”

To that, Squirtle had no answer. Quil spoke again with accusation in his voice. “Why did I evolve early if the volcano isn't responsible? I left home about two weeks ago. Before that, I had only a little battle experience. I wasn't even close to evolving. But now I'm a Quilava. Can you explain that?”

Squirtle didn't allow Quil's anger to get on his nerves. He'd be upset too if he had to cope with the possibility that he'd been lied to his entire life. Being in a new body was disorienting and frightening, also. He knew that from his own experience.

What was the explanation for Quil's early evolution? Perhaps the volcano could cause evolution, but it didn't necessarily have to. His friend was definitely correct that he'd evolved very quickly after leaving home. His human memories informed him that Pokémon in the wild took years to evolve naturally, not weeks. Yet he also recalled that Pokémon trainers could enormously accelerate the process through hard work. Something about practicing with a trainer, hearing and obeying their commands, allowed Pokémon to seize their potential. Squirtle knew little about Pokémon training, but that was the general reasoning for why a decent trainer's Pokémon tended to be superior to their counterparts in the wild.

Squirtle could also recall other suspected influences on the rate of a Pokémon's battling improvement. Many were topics of active research, but that was never his field. Some subscribed to the theory that Pokémon improved so rapidly under a trainer due to the aspect of teamwork and partnership. They believed that synergy was key to a Pokémon's development. Others believed a trainer's personality had to be in sync with their Pokémon for optimal improvement. Still others had zany ideas about a trainer's pheromones, or the weather affecting a Pokémon's genetics. Theories abounded, and maybe the future's most accepted theory had yet to be proposed. Pokémon remained mysterious creatures.

“I'm not certain Quil. I do know that where I come from, when a human helps a Pokémon to become tougher and stronger, the process is usually much faster than if the Pokémon were living in the wild. Some part of me is still human. In one way or another, my humanity could somehow be influencing you.”

Squirtle cringed. How presumptuous of him to declare the reason for Quil's evolution to be his own influence as a human. It was the best guess he had, but it sounded egocentric when spoken aloud.

However, Quil seemed receptive to the idea. “How exactly does that happen? What do the human do to the Pokémon?”

“Humans,” Squirtle corrected. “They're called Pokémon trainers, because they work with Pokémon on their battling. Order them to use certain moves, formulate strategies, develop the Pokémon's advantages and shore up their weaknesses. A good trainer constantly pushes both the Pokémon and him or herself to improve.”

Abruptly, Squirtle experienced a revelation. He knew Quil had had the same thought by the way his ears twitched.

“That's exactly what you've been doing since we've been traveling together!”

Without fully understanding why, Squirtle felt his face flush with warmth. The pieces fit together perfectly. All this time, and Squirtle had never realized he'd often behaved extremely similarly to the way a human trainer would. The explanation was too good to reject. Squirtle was responsible for Quil's swift improvement on the battlefield, as well as his prompt evolution.

That raised a host of other questions. Squirtle judged he was about as powerful as pre-evolution Quil. Was he training himself, too? The human aspect meshing with the Squirtle aspect to form a self-sustaining trainer-Pokémon duo? If Quil was being physically affected by him, what part of Squirtle's behavior was generating the effects? Giving commands? Employing strategies that most Pokémon wouldn't think of? Or merely his presence as a being that wasn't a natural Pokémon? What about the others? Would Bein evolve the next day because of him?

His head felt like it was spinning. He grabbed it with both hands, feeling the short claws dimple into his taut skin. If he was right, and he felt certain that he was, Squirtle was now more than a Pokémon with a human's mind and memories. He had a highly valuable ability. What should he do with it?

“You think your idea is right, don't you?” Quil asked. His voice was low, toneless. “Really, you're the one responsible for my evolution.”

“No,” said Squirtle immediately, snapping out of his thoughts. “No, that's not what my idea means. If I'm right, it means I've somehow brought out the best in you. The moves, the desire to improve, the practice, that's all you. It happened faster than in other Pokémon but you put in the work. You didn't take any shortcuts.”

“I don't think it's a coincidence that I evolved when I saved you,” Quil said after a moment. “Whether it's a good thing or a bad thing, I bet your trainer idea is right.”

That response did not bode well for how Quil felt about his evolution. Guilt squeezed Squirtle's heart, an emotion he despised. He looked out a window toward Blindhollow's watering hole while he racked his mind for something to say to make Quil feel better. If Quil chalked up his worth to the presence of a human companion, his self-esteem would be in dire straits. Not to mention their friendship.

“Quil, the world has changed. Some unknown force boosted the power of Electric-types or Electric moves. I've been transformed and sent to this new land, and I don't know why. Whatever's causing all of the instability might also be responsible for your early evolution. We don't have any proof that my traveling with you is what's making you improve faster than you would normally. And you evolving to save me may be a coincidence; you were being brave, and about to take on two Pokémon at once. One of them being Raizula! That sounds like a normal trigger for evolution.”

Squirtle wondered if he actually meant what he was saying. Some of what he said felt hollow, but some of it came off as reasonable. Was he willing to lie to Quil to set him at ease?

Again, Quil took a moment before answering. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better. I need some time to think this over. After all, I left home for Iyrodenin in order to evolve. Now I'm a Quilava, so I don't need to go there anymore. I don't...I think I'm going to take a walk, okay?

“Quil, wait, let's talk about this some more.”

His friend hesitated at the doorway when Squirtle spoke, but he shook his head and his rear fires passed over the threshold. Squirtle could only watch helplessly as Quil walked slowly toward the outskirts of Blindhollow, alone.

* * *

Blindhollow's pool of water was gorgeous. Squirtle sat on the edge, not even dipping his toes or tail inside. Pokémon used the pool as a water source for drinking and cleaning, so he had no desire to swim in it again unless he was granted permission. Besides, he didn't feel up to swimming at the moment. Swimming would be a reward, a way to relax. It would help him think and sort through his problems, sure, but he hadn't earned it. He didn't deserve the water right now. So he sat and admired it. No more than that.

The water really was beautiful, the way the light was reflected. Any water was beautiful when you were a Squirtle, he supposed. Fire-types likely felt the same way about fire, and Grass-types about plants. Every Pokémon naturally loved their element. That would never change, no matter how crazy the world became.

Quil had certainly changed. Gone was the Cyndaquil afraid of stepping on anyone's toes, and too insecure to produce fire. Evolving wasn't what changed Quil. The evolution was a byproduct of his personal growth. He'd practiced battling, gained self-confidence, and stepped up as a leader. Like him, Quil refused to idly watch as Pokémon suffered around him while it was in his capacity to help. From their experiences over the last week, Quil had changed.

The change was an improvement, in Squirtle's opinion. Everyone deserved confidence, pride in who they were. Everyone deserved a voice along with the strength to speak out against someone or something they didn't agree with. Quil had those qualities now. He was a different Pokémon. Yet the core of who he was remained, the part that Squirtle valued as a friend. The easy laugh. The way he would always think before speaking. The quiet passion that could sometimes be smothered but never extinguished. Quil had changed, but he was still Quil.

Squirtle only wished that Quil could see himself that way. It wasn't Squirtle who had brought about the changes, even if he was indeed responsible for accelerating them. Quil was his own Pokémon, a being ultimately independent of all others like every other Pokémon. Only Quil could change who he was. If he could not come to see that on his own, Squirtle doubted he himself could do anything to help him. To see Quil's self-esteem steadily blossom only for it to wilt now would be devastating for both of them.

Please, Quil. Don't hate me. Don't hate yourself. You've grown and evolved because of your efforts, not mine. Please see that.

“Squirtle! What are you doing down here alone?”

He glanced up to see Wartortle approaching him with a relaxed smile on his face. Unlike some of the other townsfolk who had noticed him sitting at the water's edge, Wartortle had no reservations about greeting him.

“Hi, Wartortle. I've just been thinking about Quil. I'm sure you saw him evolve. He's not sure he's earned his evolution. I'm worried about him.”

The larger Pokémon sat down beside Squirtle. “I can't say if you know this, but evolution can be a frightening time for some Pokémon. Wasn't for me, but some 'mon need time to adjust. Having your body become something new can be a jarring change. Give it a while Squirtle, that's my advice.”

Could it be that simple? Squirtle hoped so. “Thanks Wartortle. And thanks a whole lot more for shooting me that Blast Seed. I wouldn't have won against that Pidgeotto without it, you know.”

Wartortle knocked on the back of Squirtle's shell with his claws. “Ha, I know, why do you think I gave it to you? Marvelous seeds, aren't they? So much ferocity in such a tiny package.”

“Were you carrying all of those seeds with the intention of supplying Pokémon like me who needed help?”

Wartortle dipped his fluffy tail into the water, producing some gentle waves. Squirtle considered that permission enough to touch the water himself, and followed suit. The water was lovely.

“You guessed it, Squirtle. When I saw you and Quil gathering up a crowd, I knew Blindhollow was about to see something big. I couldn't see a better opportunity for my collection to be put to good use, so I gathered some seeds up and shot one over to any Pokémon fighting against Raizula or the 'mon on her side. Shame that some of these dolts didn't know what to do with the seeds. They live in the same town as my Nursery, for Kyogre's sake!” He raised both arms in exasperation. “More than a few of my seeds were abused, ruined.” A sigh. “Anyway, we won. That's the important bit.”

Squirtle took his mind off of Quil's plight for the time being in order to focus on some ideas for his team's future that had been stewing in his head.

“I see now exactly how useful even one seed can be in a battle. If I could, I would carry around an assortment of berries and seeds before fighting an important battle like the one today. How expensive are your seeds, Wartortle?”

“Money-wise? We're not talking about ordinary food here, or a new picnic basket,” he cautioned. “Most of my seeds are invaluable. I'd place a single one of my Vile Seed at two or three hundred Poké.”

Squirtle knew next to nothing about the economy in these lands, so he took three hundred Poké to be a huge sum of money. Therefore he would need a truly exorbitant amount to purchase adequate supplies for his team, should they attempt a revolution like Blindhollow's anywhere else. He'd need to become the richest Squirtle the world had ever seen. That would be wildly difficult in a world wherein most individuals had no need for money and, as such, never touched a coin in their lives. Nevertheless, seeds were the tool he needed most. Passing up a deal with the Wartortle sitting right next to him would be a mistake he'd regret in the days to come, he felt.

“Will you be at your Nursery later Wartortle? I'd like to do business with you either this afternoon or tomorrow morning.”

Wartortle sounded quite surprised. “You do? You realize I said two or three hundred Poké, don't you?”

Squirtle said nothing. Wartortle went on in an incredulous tone. “Nothing personal, but these seeds are worth a lot of money. I can't give them out, even when you've done a great service today by coming to Blindhollow and standing up to Raizula. Tourists will sometimes buy one seed when they visit my Nursery, but most 'mon...do you have a profession Squirtle? What do you do?”

“Right now? Traveling liberator,” said Squirtle with a smile.

Wartortle returned it in a distracted fashion. “Hm. Well, sure, come by the Nursery if you'd like. Eleven times out of ten, that's where I'll be.”

Squirtle guessed that was a joke Wartortle used often, but he chuckled anyway. “Great.” He brought up the topic of the Withdraw technique he'd learned and used, and they chatted for a while about the times when it had proven useful and not so useful. Wartortle commented on a Bubble technique he thought he'd seen used in the chaos of the battle, confirming the name of the move for Squirtle. They discussed the pros and cons of Water Gun and Bubble in different situations. For the most part, it sounded like Wartortle used whatever technique his gut told him to use, but that didn't stop him from observing when certain techniques worked out favorably or poorly for him.

After Squirtle said goodbye and headed back to the Rufflet's house. Every Pokémon he passed smiled at him, if they didn't praise or thank him outright. The adulation was nice, of course, but with Quil feeling the way he did about his evolution, Squirtle now felt undeserving of Blindhollow's gratitude. Was he a con artist? Had he rigged the fight's outcome, by priming Quil to evolve? Quil had saved him from Raizula and the Lickilicky, but would that be the last time they battled together?

Squirtle breathed a sigh of relief when he found Quil amongst the others in the airy room, though his friend avoided his eyes. Either Quil had not finished worrying about his evolution, or he'd reached a conclusion that brought him no satisfaction. The others did not appear to notice their disconnect in the short time before Viper asked Quil and him a question.

“Whadja wanna talk about, you two?” she said. She was coiled up next to Hayzin, who appeared attentive despite his lounging posture, and Bein, who was spinning his bone into acrobatics above his head as he followed the conversation. Three ivory bones rested in a pile next to the Cubone. Squirtle remembered seeing them back in Bein's abode at Karprest, lined up along others in a rack.

“Nothing from me,” said Quil with stiff appreciation, “except a thank-you for all of your congratulations on my evolution. I wouldn't have evolved unless we came here, so I appreciate us freeing Blindhollow together.”

Viper began to move her head about excitedly, no doubt about to ask more questions about how tough Quil felt now that he'd evolved. Squirtle hurriedly delved into his first topic.

“It was my idea for us to meet up again. Thanks for coming, and very nice work both before and during the battle, all of you. Quil, nice speech delivery, that definitely set the mood for the Pokémon of Blindhollow to fight with us later.” Quil beamed with genuine pleasure before his smile grew strained.

“Bein, thank you for noticing Raizula setting her sights on me personally, and improvising by covering my back.” The Cubone paused in his bone-flipping, and returned a solemn nod.

“Hayzin, obviously you were key to showing everyone that we had a chance. You must have taken down, what, thirty, fifty, seventy Pokémon?”

The Zebstrika replied evenly. “I find it a shame we were forced to battle to settle things. I've met every Pokémon that I struck down. I live with them. Nevertheless, thank you, Squirtle. We all did our part during the fight.”

Squirtle cursed his lack of tact. “I agree. I wish Raizula would have left Blindhollow after we called her out in front of everyone. On the other hand, I'm happy we planned together for the possibility of a melee. And Viper, good fighting out there.” He hesitated, torn for a moment between addressing the issue in his mind and preserving everyone's contentment. The harder part of him won. “Though, I feel obligated to say something in case we ever work together again as a team in the future. Viper, please remember you're part of something greater when we go in with a plan. If you skimp on your role, then the plan falls apart. Everyone suffers. I thought we agreed you'd be helping Hayzin fight the general resistance, not trying to take down Raizula. She was being occupied by Bein, as agreed. Do you know what I'm saying?”

Her tongue flicked out before her reply. “Squirtle, you talk funny. Where you from, anyway?”

“What?” said Squirtle, not expecting the change in topic. He fumbled for a good answer.

“They're both from Steady Steppe,” said Bein to Viper. Squirtle's heart felt like it had skipped a beat. Bein was covering for him? That meant Bein suspected something odd about Squirtle's origin! Then he recalled that Quil had lied for him, many days ago, when they'd first met Bein coming into Karprest.

“No way? That's far, like a week or two west, right?” Viper asked, dragging on the idle conversation. It dawned on Squirtle that she was intentionally taking the discussion away from the matter he'd brought up. Her smoothness at diverting the topic highlighted how practiced she was at the tactic. Squirtle refused to push her further by bringing the topic back up, or else the meeting might end poorly. A private conversation might be more appropriate, but it could wait until a time when they were executing a plan together again, if ever.

However, he doubted Viper's ability to be compliant with any plan, no matter how convinced she was of its validity. The Seviper was simply too impulsive and rash. Squirtle took her to be a here-and-now kind of Pokémon, not one to think before acting. How could he ever work with such a personality? She was the antithesis to planning. Not a Pokémon he foresaw working with happily and successfully in the future.

“You've definitely earned congratulations yourself, Squirtle,” Hayzin cut in pointedly. “Your planning allowed us a chance in a battle that began with seemingly impossible odds. Your ability to strategize and work under stress is remarkable.”

“It is,” added Bein, with a tone of impressed curiosity.

Hayzin continued. “I must admit I was skeptical after leaving Cavetown of how useful all of your scheming and calculating would be. I see now the benefit of being so meticulous. You've a gift, Squirtle. One I haven't seen before in any Pokémon, even along all my travels as a Blitzle. Thank you for your efforts.”

Quil let out what could have been a spirited growl or a small roar. Hayzin added a cheerful whinny, and Viper an easy hiss. Bein tapped his skull helmet a few times with his bone to make some noise. It took Squirtle a moment to realize they were giving him a cheer. He'd expected applause, but clapping involved two hands. The practice would never have arisen in Pokémon culture.

“Alright, alright, thank you.” He fought to not blush. Playing a card from Viper's deck, he said, “What are each of your plans now?”

Viper grew excited when she replied. “I'll be training around Blindhollow, getting ready to wicker-whack in Blindhollow's annual battling tournament. It's three short months away! That's what I was doing before Raizula blagged up our town.”

Makes sense that there's a competition for fighting in a Pokémon town, Squirtle thought. Almost every Pokémon I've seen is passionate about battling in one way or another.

“I'll be returning to my family in Cavetown,” said Hayzin. “From there, probably back here to Blindhollow. It is our home, and where we've chosen to raise Dashar and Rappard.”

“Going back to Cavetown myself,” said Bein, stepping forward and making eye contact with the much taller Zebstrika. “Head back together?”

As Hayzin agreed, Squirtle held up his hands and waved them. “Hold on a moment. Don't you think we're being hasty here? You're all ready to go home and call it quits?”

His question was met with a puzzled silence. Viper's tongue darted out and back in. Squirtle clarified his meaning.

“Together, we five took Raizula down. We freed Blindhollow. We all saw how much it meant to everyone here. I hope I'm not alone in saying that it felt fantastic to be able to make a difference for so many Pokémon. Why not travel elsewhere, and repeat what we did today?”

Bein lowered his gaze in contemplative fashion. Quil was silent, but Viper hissed quietly in a way that reminded Squirtle of someone saying 'Hmm'.

“Do you have somewhere in mind, Squirtle?” asked Hayzin slowly.

“I've thought about how we can do the most good, and I've reached certain conclusions. I know we can't very well help Pokémon who live in the wild against malicious Electric-types, but what we can do is fix other Pokémon settlements like Blindhollow. I imagine most regions are negatively affected by the Electric boost, so we'll have our work cut out for us.”

“Ha, so you want us to be some kind of traveling liberation team?” said Viper with a tone between quizzical and disbelieving. “I'm not afraid of any battle, but that sounds a little spangled to me Squirtle!”

Hayzin seemed to share her view, for once. “The outcome today could have been very poor for us. I believe we have Quil's inspiring show of tenacity to thank for our close victory. I can't see us being as successful as we were today anywhere else.”

Quil and Bein gave no input, and Squirtle itched to know their opinions. Especially Quil's. With the Quilava's original purpose in leaving home now fulfilled, would he still be enthusiastic about combating the harmful results of the Electric boost?

“I have some ideas to make sure that next time success is assured. Of course I've never been part of a 'traveling liberation team' before, so some of my ideas might not play out so well. But I know some will definitely pan out. They'll give us the edge we need.”

Seeing that no one looked entirely convinced, he allowed them a glimpse of his vision. “For example, during the battle today, Wartortle tossed me a Blast Seed while I dueled a Pidgeotto. Using that seed enabled me to win when I otherwise would have been knocked out then and there.” Squirtle didn't have to force any enthusiasm into his voice. It came naturally. “If we got our hands on more seeds like that, and we brought them with us on our next, uh, 'job' I suppose, any important battle could be made far easier for us. And I know there are problems associated with that idea to tackle, but I've already begun working on them.”

His hands had grown animated as he spoke, and now he let them drop to their resting position by his sides. “That's the first of some ideas I have brewing. We could brainstorm together, talk out a strategy, and help out Pokémon in other places too. I know we can do this. We've already done it once already. What do you think?”

Squirtle grew nervous as his companions eyed each other and waited for the others to speak first. When Hayzin spoke, it was with a reticence that worried Squirtle.

“I cannot charge into the battle you propose, Squirtle. Blindhollow is my home, so I helped you fight here. Elsewhere...” He shook his head with a light snort. “Besides, I cannot choose for myself where to go anymore. I have a family to care for. I would need to speak to them about this first. You understand my position, don't you?”

“I do.” With a grimace, he added, “I guess I'm asking a lot, aren't I?”

“You sure are, but I'll join up with you again!” said Viper. “Beating up bad Zappers, exciting battles, I'll be there! Bound to be great practice for the tournament here. I hope we get some more 'mon to come too. It'll be crazy fun!” She prodded her tail in Bein's direction. “You coming, Bein?”

The Cubone patted the top bone on his small pile. “I do construction. And I've got my tools back. I don't do showdowns and adventuring. Not a fan of all this traveling, either. Don't see my place in this 'liberation team'. Still. I see how I can be useful. Type and all.” His eyes flicked to Hayzin for a second. “Need to think about it more. See what our team looks like. Hear your plans.”

“Quil?” Viper prompted.

“I wasn't making up the things I said to Raizula in front of the town,” said Quil steadily. “I hate seeing 'mon like Raizula abusing their power, and I would hate for my family to be in a situation like the one we saw here. I'll join Squirtle in doing what he can about Zappers taking advantage of their power. By now I think he's proven that he knows what he's doing. Usually.”

The others chuckled in their own way at what they presumed was a small joke by Quil. Squirtle forced a smile onto his face to encourage that false presumption, but his stomach turned at his friend's final word. Quil blamed him for eliciting a premature evolution. They'd continue working together which was welcome news, but as it stood, their relationship was fractured.

“Who's your next opponent, Squirtle?” asked Hayzin. All eyes turned to him. He blinked stupidly for a moment until he could make sense of what could only be a Pokémon figure of speech.

“My next step has tentatively been for us to return to Cavetown. That'll work out well, since you two were already going that way.” He gestured to Hayzin and Bein. “We need more support for our next job to guarantee our success. More supplies, which means more money, and definitely more Pokémon to come along next time. That means establishing our reputation by telling everyone what we did here. Witnesses wouldn't hurt. Plus, I want to rub it in that Monferno's face.” A devilish smile stole across his face.

“Rub what in his face?” said Viper. “The witnesses?”

“No, no, our achievement, our reputation, that's what I meant. Anyway, before we go, I want to capitalize on the fame and gratitude we have here. Rushing back to Cavetown isn't essential, so are you all okay with leaving tomorrow morning?”

The consensus was that leaving first thing the following morning would be perfect. Squirtle would have enjoyed chatting with the others for a while, but he could see now a list of tasks he needed to accomplish before leaving Blindhollow. The list accumulated entries the longer he considered, so he had no time for conversation. He headed for the doorway with some parting instructions.

“If you can, please spread the word that we're leaving at first light. I'll be around Blindhollow if you need me.”

Striding out into the sun, and plotting an efficient course to bring him to the places and Pokémon he needed to see, Squirtle wondered at his own productivity.

Past-me, I hope that you chose to become a Pokémon specifically to help out during this crisis, because that's what I'm committing myself to. I'm pulling out all the stops here. I'm giving this my all. I don't think I've ever so fully dedicated myself to a cause before. So much strategizing. So much worrying, optimizing, decision-making. It's paid off once, but that was lucky and with an embarrassing amount of outside assistance. Can I make a difference a second time, a third time?

I hope I don't let everyone down.


	26. Recognition

TOK! TOK!

The heavy taps on his back sent vibrations through his entire body, waking Squirtle up much more effectively than a shake on the arm or a raised voice. Because every inch of him was encapsulated within his strong shell, every inch of him felt any blow to his exterior.

On another day, being woken up in such a vigorous fashion might have annoyed him, but today Squirtle was glad he hadn't been allowed to sleep in. He could see the brightening blue color of the sky through the hole high up in the wall. The sun was rising, if it had not already escaped the horizon's grasp. It would not become him to be late to leading the procession out of Blindhollow, no matter how weary he felt from the activities both before and after the previous day's crucial battle. He popped his head, tail, arms, and legs out of his shell and out into the cool air of the hospitable Rufflet's house.

As he did so, he reflected on his new form. Looking back, the body plan of a human was comically gangly in comparison. Had he really been that...awkward? The current length of his arms and legs made so much more sense. His core was his fortress. Without it, he'd be worse than naked. Deformed. He'd had hair as a human, too. Getting in his eyes, smothering his head, growing out of most of his body like an infectious disease. And where would he be without his tail? He'd be thrown off balance with no tail.

Bein was the only other Pokémon in the room. The Cubone silently jabbed his bone in the direction of the nearest window, indicating the time of day.

“Thanks for waking me Bein. Guess I owe you yet again?”

He grunted, but it almost sounded like a single laugh, so Squirtle counted it as a victory. Together they left the house and walked slowly up to the lip of the crater nearest to Cavetown. The crowd was as large as Squirtle had predicted, if it could be called as such. Six more Pokémon were gathered. Hayzin, nodding in greeting. Viper, inching back and forth impatiently. Quil, looking pointedly down the path toward their destination. The three newcomers were an Eevee, Snubbull, and a Flying-type species for which Squirtle had never wound up learning the name.

Squirtle had already spoken to the Eevee and Snubbull the previous day. They had both wanted to leave Blindhollow on an earlier date, but Raizula and her cohort had prevented them. The Eevee, Fi, was the same Eevee that had been their first stop coming into Blindhollow before the battle. Now she sought to travel to Cavetown to potentially meet up with her sister. The Snubbull, who called herself Gwala, was the quiet type. Squirtle had no idea why she wanted to go with them to Cavetown, but he knew the more Pokémon that came with them, the more impressive their party would appear upon arrival in Cavetown. The faster word would spread. The more substantial their reputation would grow. The easier it would be to enact his plans.

The Flying-type had similar coloration and shape to a Pidove, but it was larger and had a distinctive ruff of black feathers around the back of its neck as well as rosy markings above its eyes. Its tail was a single large feather tipped with black. The Pokémon strode over to Squirtle on impressive pink talons and introduced itself as Peroo. After its wingstroke had been stopped by Squirtle's forehead, it spoke in a curiously quick manner.

“Is it quite alright if I fly along with you 'till we reach Cavetown then? Been grounded in Blindhollow for a smidgeon too long. Raizula's Flyers had the skies locked down 'till you all showed up, especially that Mandibuzz, Keer. I can't wait to go on a proper cruise again, know what I mean?”

“Certainly, please come along. The more the merrier.” Seeing the Pokémon's naturally fierce eyes blink in incomprehension, he added, “An expression where I come from. Ready to go?”

“Ah, yeah, you got it Squirtle. Actually, I wanted to ask you about a spot of trouble I've been in. A bunch of 'mon have been in the same trouble, really. I talked to your Quilava friend, and he said to talk to you. See, there's a meeting place that we use over in Mistyfern. Not a town exactly, but a few of the local 'mon like myself like to meet up to discuss the happenings, fix any big problems, help each other out. Except now there's this Zapper, a Pachirisu, who's gone and taken over the place, basically. None of us can do a thing about it, since he easily whoops anyone in a fight that so much as looks at him wrong.”

“Sorry,” Squirtle interrupted. “Where's Mistyfern exactly?”

“Oh, Mistyfern Jungle, it's a big region of cloudy jungle on the other side of the mountains.” He motioned with a wing at the snowy peaks to the north, northeast, and the smaller mountains to the east. “Plenty of ferns, and it's misty all the time. Mistyfern, right? I left our little gathering spot once we saw how absurdly powerful that Pachirisu was, but I didn't realize every Zapper was like that. I got stuck here in Blindhollow, but I'm almost glad I did, seeing as I got to witness what you and your pals were doing. So I was thinking maybe you could do a repeat over in Mistyfern, eh?”

Squirtle was neither displeased nor surprised by the news. It was only a matter of time before Pokémon would be asking his team for help in other regions. Requests for assistance were a natural byproduct of his attempts to maximize his team's notoriety. He didn't believe his team's services would be called for until they arrived in Cavetown, but that was no matter. This Flying-type Pokémon would not be turned away because of Squirtle's ill-preparedness. He'd thought ahead.

“Peroo, I'm happy you brought this up. Unfortunately we have to go to Cavetown first to attend to a few matters. I can't promise that us five personally will be able to travel to Mistyfern Jungle to deal with that Pachirisu, but I can promise that your issue will be resolved. You'll see, once we get to Cavetown.” Assuming we have the reception that I'm hoping for, Squirtle added in his head.

The Flying-type bobbed his head and neck forward. “Righty-o, thanks Squirtle. Let's get to Cavetown quick-like then, shall we? I'll be up there, generally speaking.” He flicked his beak to the skies before hopping off the ground and flapping away.

Once he did, Squirtle got a good look at his companions' reactions to the Pokémon's request. Viper won the award for 'Most Surprised', while Quil certainly earned 'Most Appreciative' by the flattered smile he wore. The request was more evidence that they'd truly made a positive difference in Blindhollow. Their intervention was enough to inspire others to seek out their help elsewhere. No words were said about the conversation, but Squirtle reckoned none were needed.

Hayzin came over to Squirtle and spoke in a lowered voice. “More gifts were offered to us yesterday afternoon, like you predicted. One was even left outside the door overnight. We put them in one of the bags. Are we bringing them with us?”

“Perfect, yes. We'll probably need them, whatever they are. I figured not every Pokémon would want to express their appreciation in front of the whole town.”

“And the bag of seeds and berries? Speaking of which, where did all those come from?” The Zebstrika tried to sound casual, but Squirtle wagered he was more curious than he let on. As a Blindhollow resident, Hayzin could be well aware of how pricey Wartortle's seeds were.

“We're definitely bringing those. I spoke to certain Pokémon around town yesterday, especially the ones who said to talk to them if we ever needed anything. They obliged. And I also spent most of the money we were given at Wartortle's Nursery.”

“I see. Audacious of you, Squirtle.”

Did he mean to say that he was impressed, or that Squirtle was being reckless? Either way, the deeds had already been done. Squirtle nodded and stepped past the Zebstrika to the fore of the small gathering of Pokémon and bags. Everyone was ready to leave. Fi and Gwala offered to help carry the baggage, but Viper insisted on carrying it all herself. The feat was hardly impressive, since the baggage consisted of three plain sacks that couldn't have weighed more than the load that she had bore two days prior: Quil and Bein.

“I got it, stop fussing. I won't let it fall and spill,” Viper said with irritation after minute two of Squirtle securing the bags to her back. He used some rope he'd requested from an adoring Buneary in Blindhollow's outer ring.

With the gear taken care of, Squirtle quickly went over his expectations for the journey back to Cavetown. “We're in no great rush to return to Cavetown, so let's all save our strength when we run into battles. There's no way we can lose as a group of eight. Battles will definitely happen though. I imagine the delicious smells coming from the berry and seed bag will be more than enough to attract some wild Pokémon.”

“Oh yeah,” said Gwala the Snubbull after an audible pair of sniffs through his shiny black nose.

“Once we get to Cavetown, but before we go our separate ways, please come to the commons with me. I want to announce our triumph at Blindhollow to as many Pokémon as possible while we're all together. Anything else we need to talk about before we get going?”

No questions or concerns were raised. The path to Cavetown awaited.

* * *

The Scyther buzzed its wings in one last attempt to keep its balance before staggering backward and falling into the grass lining the path. Bein let the bone he'd been brandishing lower to his side. After a bow to the Scyther, he returned to the other bones he'd dropped and scooped them under one arm. Viper launched back into her story about the time she'd chased a Sandshrew into the tunnel it had dug. Squirtle had long since zoned out her voice. He suspected the others had too.

Quil had done most of the legwork in the battle. The others had let him. Evidently it was customary among Pokémon living in groups to allow any newly-evolved Pokémon a chance to fully enjoy their new capabilities. Besides, the Scyther was weak to Fire. Even after Quil's third use of his Ember that day, he still looked pleasantly surprised at the fire's intensity.

In the lull following the battle, Squirtle wondered at the reasoning behind a wild-dwelling Pokémon's desire to fight such a large group. The instinctual drive to fight any and all intruders had to be overwhelmingly powerful, yet he could still usually see a glimmer of doubt in the Pokémon's eyes each time the group encountered a wilder. Would he be driven by the same need to battle if he made the wilderness his home? According to Quil's explanation on their first day together, he would. Squirtle shuddered as he imagined himself mindlessly attacking passers-by in his territory.

For perhaps the tenth time, a shadow swept across the path in front of them and Squirtle jumped. Of course it was only Peroo soaring a hundred feet off the ground. Periodically he would rest his wings by walking along with the group, but never for long. He was a Pokémon of the sky – a Tranquill, Squirtle had learned on the road. Squirtle passed a few minutes imagining the wonders of flight. He bet Peroo would carry him, if he asked politely. He could hold onto the Tranquill's talons and feel the rush of wind as they left the earth behind. If Quil could sustain no injuries being knocked off a cliff, Bein could carry more than twice his weight, and Squirtle could jump five times his height, then a Tranquill could surely lift a smaller Pokémon into the sky. The only problem was that asking for a joy ride was totally improper behavior for the leader figure that he now was. It would be juvenile and unnecessary. So he refrained.

What he could do instead to satiate his curiosity was try on the gifts that were reputed to enhance one's abilities. He'd been holding off so as to not appear eager to experiment with a phenomenon that his peers considered ordinary. Squirtle recognized that he learned little about Pokémon training in his old life, yet he had absolutely no recollection of any items like the Special Band that waited within the bags. Like the extraordinary seeds that he'd seen in Wartortle's Seed Nursery, items like the Special Band seemed to be endemic to whatever land he now traveled.

Fi and Gwala chatted under their breath behind Viper, who continued telling her tale to what she believed to be an attentive audience. In the story, Viper burst out of the tunnel into an underground nest full of angry Krookodile. Squirtle shook his head. How would she have even been able to see what Pokémon they were? It would have been pitch black. He walked alongside the Seviper and untied the bag containing all of the accessories with which they'd left Blindhollow.

The orange cloth was the Special Band, the gray cloth with the six black dots was the Defense Scarf, and the yellow headband with violet accents was the Detect Band. The first would supposedly improve one's elemental potency, the second could make one resistant to physical strikes, and the third somehow improved one's ability to avoid attacks. There was also the pretty blue ribbon, but its previous owner did not say it had any special properties. Each of the enhancement items had a story behind it, like the legendary Staraptor that wore the Special Band when it used its Sky Attack against its foes. The accessories' origin stories made them sound like they were artifacts from an era of epic battles and larger-than-life struggles between good and evil. Squirtle doubted every word. He was also skeptical of the accessories' ability to provide any benefit beyond the placebo effect. The time had come to test their worth.

When he folded and tied the Special Band bandana-style around the top rim of his shell, Squirtle felt absolutely no different. His hopes plummeted. Bringing the fabric with them had been a waste of effort.

“How's it feel? Can you feel super bluper power gushing through you?” Viper had stopped her story to watch Squirtle try on the Special Band.

“No, I feel the same as always.” He kept the disappointment out of his voice so as to not reveal that his dreams had been crushed. “It's a dud.”

“Haven't tried it yet,” Bein pointed out. “Shoot your water.”

Squirtle rolled his eyes. Bein didn't deserve it, but the distinct lack of the anticipated extraordinary effects had fouled his mood. He aimed his head down the path and let fly a quick Water Gun.

The water from his Pool flowed into his mouth more readily than ever before. As the water streamed past his lips, he sensed that the flow rate was greater than anything he'd produced previously. Water, so much water! The speed of the water, too, had increased. In fact, everything about the technique was noticeably improved. The overall effect was a simply better Water Gun. The improvement was not massive, but it was still there. Too great to be written off as a result of his own hopeful perceptions. The Special Band really worked!

“Wow,” Fi murmured. She looked avoided everyone's gaze as most eyes turned to her. “I've never seen someone use a scarf before. It works, right?”

Squirtle nodded, grinning, as Viper said, “C'mon, try the others on!”

He untied the Special Band and replaced it with the Defense Scarf. Again, he felt no different until Viper swatted him with the flat of her tail blade. The impact on his chin felt more distant than he would have expected, as if some of the force behind the hit had been lost somewhere along the way. Squirtle was too excited by the effect of the scarf to be upset with Viper going for his face.

The Detect Band was the most exciting of all, as it distinctly warped Squirtle's perception of the world from the moment he tightened it around his forehead. Motion stood out. The scenery appeared no different, but the way the Pokémon around him moved now appeared more important in his eyes. When Bein took a swing at him with his customary bone, the weapon was like a brilliant beacon that drew his full attention. He still couldn't avoid the bone slamming into his shell, but Squirtle figured that predicting and dodging attacks would be easier due to the automatic, perfect focus that the Detect Band inspired.

“Try them all on at once,” said Viper, her head bobbing like mad. “Then let's do a practice battle. Viper versus mega-Squirtle!”

He was too thrilled by the wondrous effects of the items to say no. However, when he tied the Special Band back on with the Detect Band still wrapped around his forehead, Squirtle found himself afflicted by a sudden malaise. Then the nausea came. Before he could find out what throwing up felt like as a Squirtle, he hastily untied the Special Band. The discomfort lingered for a minute but gradually subsided.

“I've never seen a 'mon wearing more than one such accessory,” said Hayzin. “I expect that's why. I apologize, I could have warned you.”

Squirtle waved away the apology as he finally felt like himself again. The time for fun was over though. Time to get down to business. “Don't worry about it. I probably would have tried it myself anyway to be sure. While we have them out, we should decide who wears which scarf, in case we do end up traveling together once again. It would be a mistake to not make use of them. Every advantage counts.”

“I sure don't need one,” scoffed Viper immediately. “I can pull my weight in any battle without help!”

Other than Viper's rejection of the accessories, no one else gave any input. The silence held a note of expectation. Squirtle grew irritated, then frustrated when still no one spoke. He had tried to encourage open discussions. He'd made sure that his plans and stratagems were democratic suggestions, not authoritarian commandments. Why, then, were they all waiting for him to voice his personal opinion? Had he babied them so much? Could they not think for themselves? The Pokémon around him were certainly not idiots. More than once though, Squirtle had brought up a topic for discussion only to look back minutes later and realize that the 'conversation' had been more of a one-sided speech than an equal dialogue.

Finally, Quil came to the rescue. “Hayzin, maybe you should wear the Detect Band. You might be targeted in the next gigantic battle, since you're...you know.”

“True,” said the Zebstrika. “For the same reason, it's also probably important for me to remain up and fighting. Not to raise my personal importance out of proportion, but I do have the potential to inflict damage on a large scale nowadays.”

They both glanced at Squirtle, seemingly for approval. He nodded. “Right. Then Bein, if you come with us on the next job, I think you should wear the Defense Scarf. You'll be targeted too, as a Grounder. A smart Electric-type will order his or her allies to prioritize taking you down.”

Bein's expression did not change. “If I go with you, I'll wear it. Not a problem.”

“Who's gonna wear the Special Band?” asked Gwala, who'd been following the conversation with an expression between excitement and confusion.

“Down to you two,” said Viper with a sweep of her blade in the direction of Quil and Squirtle. “Why don't you keep it, Squirtle? Quil just evolved.”

A flare of anger arose from some part of Squirtle's mind. Was Viper saying he was weak? Lately Squirtle wasn't sure he could differentiate between his Squirtle body's feelings and drives, and his humanity. The line between the two blurred more every day he lived this new life. Segregating and preserving his humanity was like trying to hold water in his hands.

“You think I need the Special Band?” He tried to make it sound like a playful jab.

“Nah, that's not what I meant,” Viper said with a tactful tone of voice. The inflection sounded misplaced coming from her. “Still, Quil evolved yesterday, and that means...”

“She didn't mean to be degrading, Squirtle,” Hayzin reassured.

“No big deal, I'll be the one to wear it when we leave from Cavetown,” Squirtle said with finality.

Through the last few pieces of conversation, Quil had become suddenly interested in the mountaintops of Heartless Heights. The sight of his friend pretending to ignore the conversation stirred the coals of Squirtle's anger once again. How dare Quil be so aloof during the discussion? Did he think himself superior to Squirtle now that he was a Quilava? Did he lose interest in the conversation because he assumed the Special Band should go to Squirtle, the weakling Water-type?

“Tch,” Squirtle practically spat as the group lapsed into silence for the first time on the journey. Not even Viper broke it. Squirtle threw the three items back into the bag and secured it with the others.

Inevitably, in the peaceful wilderness, Squirtle's bitter thoughts lost steam. The sights and sounds of the untamed grassland and open sky were enough to calm anyone, given enough time. His rage eased into anxiety. Squirtle could count on two hands, to a total of six fingers, the number of times he'd felt angry after his transformation. Whatever was making him mad about the insinuation that he should wear the Special Band needed to be addressed. He was not the type of person who was easily angered.

While Squirtle recognized that he had grown fond and even proud of his skill in battle, he did not feel so egotistical as to take serious offense to the suggestion that someone else's moves surpassed his own. Unless Quil was that 'someone else'. Quil was the problem. Squirtle may be jealous of Quil's evolution. That was a fine explanation, and no doubt common among Pokémon. He could see himself being jealous of that. Or, maybe Squirtle was feeling guilty about possibly forcing Quil into what he now was. Maybe he was mad that Quil was giving him the cold shoulder. Or that Quil was blaming him for expediting the evolution.

Thankfully, all of those possibilities shared one fact in common: they could be addressed by an honest conversation. Like most problems in a friendship, it could be resolved by simply talking about it. Squirtle's opinion, however, had not changed: Quil needed to see for himself that he was his own Pokémon. No matter what effects Squirtle's presence had on him, Quil was responsible for his own development. By the way the Quilava was behaving toward him though, it seemed he'd reached a conclusion out of line with that viewpoint. Quil seemed to be holding his evolution against Squirtle. His friend had said he needed some time alone to think about it. Well, he'd gotten his time. Tomorrow morning, Squirtle promised himself that he would talk to Quil face to face.

Squirtle's worries about Quil's sense of independence and self-confidence persisted through the day. A few battles later, each made effortless by the uneven odds, the day was done. Bein swiftly excavated a huge hole off the path, and they all piled in to rest. An hour or two before noon the next day, the group reached the foothills marking the border between Blind Prairie and Heartless Heights. It was also the deadline that Squirtle set for himself for talking to Quil. If he was being honest with himself, he dreaded talking to Quil. The outcome of the conversation could be disastrous. Nevertheless, being on such poor terms with Quil was making him behave unlike himself. Squirtle needed harmony, finality. That was the sort of person or Pokémon he was. Nothing left up in the air.

“Quil,” he said after a deep breath. “I want to talk to you. Would you walk with me further up the path for a while?”

“Alright.”

Once the two were out of earshot, Quil spoke while Squirtle was only opening his mouth. His expression was thoughtful. “Sorry I've been distant. Like I said, I wanted to think on my own about where I am in my life.”

Hooray, Quil didn't hate him! “Right, I understand. Have you...reflected more on your evolution?”

“Oh, that. Yeah. If you're right about the human trainer effect, and I think that we both think you are, then you traveling and battling with me sped up my improvement a whole lot. No one with my small amount of experience evolves, it's unheard of! But I also think you were right when you said that I'm the one who improved myself and grew stronger. Not you, or anyone else.”

Squirtle could not help but smile in relief as Quil continued. “We practiced, we improved, we worked hard. It wasn't like I did nothing. Even if the process was shortened by you, I should be celebrating my evolution, not wondering if I deserve it.” A small, perhaps apologetic smile came onto Quil's face. “Besides, you didn't mean to do it, so I can't expect you to have asked permission first.”

“Oh, Quil, fantastic! I'm so glad you see it that way! Although, you bring up a good point. I don't have to keep doing what I've been doing if it has this unwanted enhancing effect on the Pokémon around me. Do you want me to stop acting so much like a trainer? I can step down, so to speak, and fight silently and instinctively like other Pokémon. That might work.”

Quil's eyes wandered upward thoughtfully for a moment before he said, “No, please keep acting like your normal self. This phenomenon, however it works, is a good thing. I'm sure of that now. Together, we can all get stronger quick. Every advantage counts, right?”

* * *

Days had passed since Squirtle, Quil, and Bein had arrived at Cavetown for the first time. Yet still many Pokémon remained by the main entrance, waiting for someone or something. In fact, the number of waiting Pokémon had grown. Squirtle recalled well the disappointed expressions come over the faces of the two Croconaw, or the Crustle, as they crested the path and came into the view of Cavetown's morose sentinels that first time. The interested, even hopeful expressions he saw this time around were thus even more positive by contrast.

“Aren't you the 'mon with the crazy idea to 'take back Blindhollow'?” asked a Bonsly, as the Donphan serving as sentry waved them in with her trunk.

“Yep!” said Quil. Squirtle had asked him to be the team's voice in Cavetown again for consistency's sake. His new form would be showcased from the forefront, too. “Come with us to the commons if you'd like to hear about it.”

As the group descended into the tunnel and Squirtle's eyes adjusted to the low bioluminescent glow, the Bonsly wasn't the only Pokémon who followed them. Whispers and exclamations of curiosity or surprise followed where they passed. The poise that Squirtle had asked his team to exhibit while in Cavetown paid off, since they were soon leading a crowd into the commons. He was reminded of the march to the bottom of Blindhollow. In some ways, the outcome of the announcement in the commons would be just as impactful to Squirtle's plans as the battle of Blindhollow was. That outcome was mostly up to Quil, but Squirtle was much less worried about Quil's ability to speak in front of Cavetown's Pokémon this time.

When they reached that same mushroom cluster in the commons, and Squirtle fully turned around at last, he could feel the blood drain from his face. Hundreds of Pokémon. Hundreds. The rest of Cavetown had to be empty, and there had to be more refugees than ever in order to justify the numbers present in the commons. More still were pushing into the crowded first portion of the cavern. Pokémon shifted deeper inside, even going past the mushroom cluster to make room. The team was surrounded by an attentive mass of Pokémon. Murmurs and mutterings echoed in the huge cavern. Squirtle caught snippets from the nearest Pokémon.

“...a Quilava now. I wonder what happened in...”

“...new Snubbull, Eevee, Tranquill, so where else could they have gone if not...”

“...that Zebstrika again! Help me Groudon I'll teach him not to show his stripes in my home, with...”

“...impossible for them to have actually beaten that Raichu. I heard she's...”

Squirtle motioned to the rest of the team to take positions on the shorter mushrooms. Peroo, Fi, and Gwala all showed reluctance, but obeyed. The stalk of Hayzin's chosen mushroom bent and snapped when he leaped atop. A few Pokémon laughed as he stood on the rocky ground instead with his chin high. Squirtle gave Quil a nod after about a minute. He wanted the rumors and guesses percolating as long as possible without letting the crowd simmer down and begin to file out from losing interest.

“Hello, thank you for coming!” Quil sounded more confident this time. His now deeper and louder voice supported that confidence. “A few days ago, I stood on this mushroom as a Cyndaquil and said we would stop what was happening in Blindhollow. What I'm about to say might sound unbelievable to you, but we have proof, and anyone who goes to Blindhollow now can see for themselves.”

He paused dramatically as a teasing smile stole onto his short snout. Quil was going to enjoy this, and why not? He'd earned it. He should be proud.

“We did it.”

The cavern erupted into isolated conversations, shouts of approval, disapproval, disbelief, requests for details, demands for the 'truth'. Through it all, Quil said nothing. His smile grew lopsided, and wavered. Squirtle began to give an encouraging thumbs-up, but switched it to a triumphant fist. Many Pokémon lacked hands, let alone thumbs. Squirtle's own digit barely qualified as a thumb, compared to the true human thumb. The closed fist would have a better chance of being understood.

The clamor died away while a few miniature debates began. Two or three minutes into the unproductive arguments, a Geodude shouted that she knew a pair of Pidgey who could vouch for Quil's words about what had happened in Blindhollow. She said the Pidgey had been present during the climactic battle. The two Pidgey themselves took off from their perches in the crowd, confirming that Raizula had been deposed and the town freed. Fi, Peroo, and Gwala followed on the heels of the assurances of the two Pidgey with their own testimony of the events at Blindhollow. Squirtle had warned them they would probably need to confirm Quil's story for the Pokémon of Cavetown, and they did their parts admirably. Fi's voice quivered and she watched her front paws as she talked, but the crowd thankfully seemed to interpret that as anxiety, not dishonesty. Only then did Squirtle estimate the crowd was truly beginning to believe Quil's words.

Quil continued his speech at last, talking about what exactly happened at Blindhollow. Pokémon in the crowd shouted questions, and Quil replied without missing a beat. The speech took on a back-and-forth nature that Squirtle was sure gave them credibility. As they had discussed, Quil finished the speech with positivity.

“Blindhollow will never again have problems with crazy Zappers. We've made sure of that. But we're not done. No, we're going to help everywhere else that is suffering because of Zappers taking advantage of their power. I bet a lot of you are coming from places like that, and we want to restore them to the way they used to be.”

The crowd's reaction was stronger than Squirtle had anticipated. What sounded like half of the Pokémon present yelled out their appeals for help. Squirtle didn't recognize any of the names or locations called out except for two or three mentions of Karprest and Stolt.

Quil held up his forepaws as if to fend off all the requests. “Okay, okay, thank you. We're going to be putting up a, er, board or something. It'll be outside wherever we stay here in Cavetown, which, I'm not really sure...”

Squirtle hopped up onto the highest mushroom with Quil. “Once we've chosen a place to base ourselves here in Cavetown, could that Smeargle please install a board nearby for everyone to post up the known Electric-type issues? We'd also love to have a few other Pokémon to help us out, so if you want to be a part of our efforts, please stop by tomorrow.”

More than a few eager nods or other signals of enthusiastic approval could be seen in the gathered Pokémon. As he clambered down and gestured for Quil to continue, Squirtle breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Being too demanding would have soured the mood, but everyone was excited to help.

“That's about all we have to say,” Quil said. “In a couple of days we're leaving again for some other area, and we won't fail. We will help the Pokémon we find against whatever Zapper is causing problems. Please help us out in our preparations if you can. Together, we're stronger than any bad Zapper!”

A shudder of emotion went through Squirtle at his friend's words. For a moment, he was larger than life. A force for good in a world gone mad. He was making an actual difference. Doing what he was meant to do. He felt small before the enormity of their mission. Humbled. As the crowd cried its bestial cheer, Squirtle's eyes shone with a kind of wonder. Then with fire.

The hour that followed passed in a blur. The crowd was not done with them, even if they were done with the crowd. Apparently their audience was too eager or excited to stop by the team's base of operations at a later time. Pokémon wanted assurances from Quil that they would truly be safe to return to Blindhollow. There were entreaties for assistance with this or that Electric-type, as well as demands that bordered on threats for Squirtle's team to help them out immediately. Some Pokémon wanted to speak to them simply to give personal thanks or praise. Again, some Pokémon offered gifts. Quil accepted all of them, supporting Squirtle's theory that refusing a gift would be an insult. Still others promised them gifts in exchange for assistance with this or that Electric-type back home. These promises planted the seeds of an idea in Squirtle's mind as he encouraged them to post their issues on the board later on.

Fortunately, a few of their visitors offered more than material possessions. Services. A long-time resident of Cavetown who could connect them with whatever Pokémon they needed to see. The Bunnelby leader of the digging team that could hollow out whatever caves they needed to get a base of operations set up. A Leavanny skilled at working with materials and silk thread. A cook from the kitchen who offered to cater food to them when they were too busy to come down to the diner.

Last of all came the Pokémon that Squirtle had most been looking forward to seeing. The Monferno practically dragged his feet as he approached Squirtle and Quil with his eyes downcast. Squirtle arranged his features to their most pompous configuration.

“Ehh, gotta tell ya, I'm real sorry about makin' fun of your speech that other day. Hee, I can see now you weren't playin'. Sorry 'bout that.” The Fire-type's tail curled and he stole a glance at their faces for a reaction.

Squirtle dropped his look of superiority. How could he gloat when the Monferno was genuinely ashamed and repentant?

“It's okay,” Quil said. “We accept your apology, right Squirtle?”

“Hm. Yes, we do. Thanks for waiting all this time to apologize.”

The Monferno was not satisfied. “How can I make it up to ya? I don't have anything to give, but the guilt's been hitting me like a Hyper Beam since you came back to town. You need anything?”

Quil looked to Squirtle. He thought of what pieces were still missing from his plan after all the offers of assistance they'd received from the rest of the Pokémon in Cavetown. There was that one job he needed done, but offering it to the Monferno would be a silly idea. And yet...maybe a skeptic with a conscience was exactly what he needed.

“If you really want to help, and if you live in Cavetown, you can be our banker.”

“Banker? What's a banker?”

“You know, a pers--uh, that is, a Pokémon in charge of a bank.”

The Monferno glanced at Quil, whose expression of confusion matched the Monferno's. Squirtle was puzzled as he saw that not Hayzin, Viper, Bein, or any of the other Pokémon nearby knew what he was talking about. No one knew what a banker was?

Oh, so Pokémon don't have banks. Right. Time to teach basic economics.

“A bank is a place where Pokémon can store their money or possessions so that they'll be safe. When we're traveling to deal with the next Electric-type, we won't be bringing everything we own with us. We'll need to pick up some things when we return though, so that's where you would come in. You'd have the Poké and the items safe and sound.”

“Hee, you must have a lot of stuff to need a banker!” said the Monferno.

“Interesting,” Hayzin put in. “That explains what we'll be doing with all of this.” He nudged the pile of gifts and offerings with a hoof.

“How about it?” asked Squirtle.

The Monferno's reply bore no hesitation. “If being your banker is whatcha need, then I'm your Pokémon, hee! Name's Nape.”

* * *

The rest of the day was spent capitalizing on gratitude and otherwise profiting from the team's reception in order to bring the schemes of Squirtle's mind to fruition. As one of the lauded heroes, Squirtle was able to commandeer a small piece of Cavetown as the team's temporary base of operations. A few minutes' walk through the labyrinthine network of tunnels placed them at the end of a medium-diameter tunnel far from the hubbub at the core of Cavetown. The tunnel's end wasn't much, but it would serve. Their Phanpy guide explained that there were many tunnels in Cavetown that saw little use. Some were unfinished, some led to the surface, and some led deep into Heartless Heights and parts unknown.

When Squirtle wondered aloud where a good place would be to serve as their bank, Nape the Monferno suggested a nearby cavern with an uncommon qualities. It was known as The Lattice, and once Nape led them there, Squirtle could see why. The cavern featured stalactites and stalagmites galore, along with reticulated stone arches criss-crossing every which way. The walls were honeycombed with holes, and at no point was the floor an easy walk. The room was a geological marvel.

Nape looked pleased at the awe-stricken expressions. “Hee, it's not the only cavern in Cavetown like this, but it's the craziest one. Not many Pokémon can navigate The Lattice like I can, not even Flyers, so I wager it'll be easy for me to keep your things safe and hidden in the nooks and pockets all around.”

To demonstrate, the Monferno ran up the nearest stalagmite, launched himself at a thin horizontal column of stone, and swung out of sight in the blink of an eye. He returned to the group from a different part of the Lattice, using his tail and feet equally as often as his hands to maneuver his body through the natural obstacle course.

“Perfect,” said Squirtle, and motioned for everyone to leave their bags with Nape. Bein deposited all of his bones except his favored one, too.

While returning to the base, which Viper very creatively dubbed 'Team Base', Hayzin expressed his desire to reunite with his mate Flinyta. He promised to let Squirtle know his final decision regarding his future with the team. He said his goodbyes, and Bein made a similar promise. The rest of the group followed suit. Hayzin, Bein, Gwala, Fi, and Peroo all departed. Squirtle, Quil, and Viper followed the Phanpy in a significantly quieter procession.

Already, a small crowd was forming at the dead-end tunnel now known as Team Base. Squirtle knew why they'd come, but he was surprised at how quickly. Apparently the resourcefulness of a Pokémon in need could not be underestimated. A familiar Smeargle and Donphan trickled in from the tunnel, and Squirtle motioned them to the front. The Donphan's tusks bore a load of wooden planks and panels with a jingling metal bucket. The Smeargle brought nothing except the natural paintbrush of a tail. Squirtle peeked inside the bucket to behold thick nails of the same gray-black as the bucket.

After instructing the duo on the specifics of how he wanted the board installed, Squirtle soon grew impatient watching the two at their slow work. There was still so much to do! Quil must have noticed his anxiety, as he offered to supervise the progress and put the crowd at ease while Squirtle moved on to his next task. Viper remained with Quil as Squirtle returned to inner Cavetown.

The tasks that Squirtle had imagined taking an hour ended up taking far longer. They'd been overly simplified in his mind, fledgling ideas that would surely work themselves out when the time came. The devil was in the details. Still, he felt accomplished upon returning to Team Base at what he judged to be the end of the day. Time was tricky in the subterranean town. The environment was perpetually lit by the calm white glow of the fungi, never dimming or brightening.

The relief on Quil's face was unmistakable as Squirtle came into view. He and Viper were practically surrounded by Pokémon, no doubt fending off an endless flow of requests for assistance in fixing the issues caused by this or that Electric-type. Quil said something about the team needing to sleep to be successful, and the remaining Pokémon finally left them in peace.

“Finally, you're back,” said Quil. He sounded exhausted. Squirtle felt a pang of guilt though he was certainly weary himself. Viper apparently lacked the energy to voice any words at all.

“I accomplished much of what I wanted to do, thanks to you two holding down the fort. No one's used the board yet?”

The wall near the tunnel's end now featured a neat, modest, eight by six foot message board. Squirtle had asked it to be made of removable wooden slats, so that a Pokémon could take an empty slat out, scratch in their request with a claw or sharp rock, and then reinsert the slat. The format also allowed Squirtle the ability to rearrange the slats to his liking, though he did not yet have any idea of what order might make sense. The board was currently blank.

“I insisted that no one use it yet,” Quil explained. “I think we deserve a break from worrying about Zapper problems, if only for one day. Everyone promised they'd wait until morning. A Togekiss said that would be in ten or eleven hours. That means it's evening now right? Feels like it.”

Squirtle smiled up at his friend. “Good idea. A night without any pleas for help while we're trying to sleep sounds much more restful. Speaking of, want to head to the kitchen for a meal before getting some sleep?”

The attention the three received while eating was simultaneously gratifying and annoying. Being a celebrity was a double-edged sword. Their fellow diners wanted detailed accounts of the battle against Raizula and her supporters. Some asked to see their battling techniques. Viper obliged, and Squirtle and Quil allowed her to represent them in the matter. She proceeded to slash her tail through the air and bite at an imagined Raichu. The purple poison coating the blade of her tail and sizable fangs was certainly not imaginary. To Squirtle's relief, no Pokémon was poisoned during the demonstration. After dinner, the three settled down to sleep on the least jagged and thus most comfortable rocky surface in Team Base. The spot turned out to be the smooth top of a boulder left behind from the tunnel's digging efforts an unknown time ago.

In the morning, or what felt like morning, the three went to check on the request board and found once again a small crowd of Pokémon awaiting their arrival. Two or three Pokémon in the front eagerly began talking about the help they required. Squirtle did not give them a chance to get rolling. More crowds was not what he wanted to deal with first thing in the morning.

“Yes, we understand, the Electric boost is causing problems everywhere,” he said in a raised voice so that all could hear. “That's what the point of the board is! Please just write on the board instead of watching us sleep like this! You simply take out one of these...”

He looked at the board while reaching for one of the removable wooden slats. His hand stopped.

Quil and Viper were both frozen beside him, completely ignoring the crowd.

“Yeesh,” said Viper. “I'm still dreaming, right? That's got to be it.”

“Krow's luck,” said Quil, almost too softly to be heard. “What can we do against that?”


	27. Framework

At Team Base, on the outskirts of Cavetown, Viper, Quil, and Squirtle stared at the request board in disbelief.

Every single one of the removable wooden panels had been filled with a request.

The board was covered in the Unown-shaped letters called U-script. The words were scratched into the slats, transforming the request board into a wall of cramped text. There was the occasional crude image of a map to the location that needed help or the face of the Pokémon causing the problem, but U-script description dominated. Some of the slats even offered rewards in the form of services, items, or plain old Poké.

Squirtle counted the slats by jabbing the air with a finger-claw. “Eight columns of slats, twelve rows, so that's ninety-six slats all told. And every one of them was used. I can't believe it. Ninety-six requests. Ninety-six.”

“We thought it was an achievement to help out Blindhollow,” said Quil. “That was one place. One. That was nothing compared to this. Look at all these places that need help!”

Viper poked some of the slats with the tip of her tail's blade. “These two here are complaining about the same place. And these two! Beh, guess no one checked to see if there was already a request on the board for their hometown or wherever.”

“Of course,” said Squirtle. “Duplicates! It's not so much after all! Although, if every single slat was used, it's likely that some Pokémon weren't able to write down their request at all. There must be even more than are written on this board.” His hope died like a lone sunbeam smothered by a shifting raincloud.

“How are we going to decide which request to take up?” asked Quil with his eyes still on the board.

Squirtle began to answer when he sensed the small crowd, standing quietly a respectful distance away, hold their breath for his answer. He looked significantly at Quil and Viper before announcing to the crowd that they needed to convene for a brief team meeting.

Now out of earshot, Squirtle proposed his idea. “I'm thinking we should ask that Donphan for more slats, and give them to any Pokémon who couldn't write down a request. Then we take them all, sort them, and discuss each one to determine which problems are the most severe. We may have to interview some Pokémon to get a fuller, better idea of the situation on their slat.”

Quil looked down at one foot, which began to twist and scratch the rocky floor. Viper's head reared back as if she'd been punched on the nose. “That'd take a hundred years! Kah, we've got to start fighting if we're going to help, not spend forever coiled here and talking about how to help.”

Squirtle took a steadying breath and released his annoyance before it could build.

I should be appreciative of any objections. Criticism and skepticism are helpful for correcting the errors of any plan before they are acted upon. Still, Viper gets on my nerves sometimes. I know how Hayzin must feel spending so much time with her.

He turned to Quil expectantly, waiting for support of his plan and objection to Viper's demand for hasty action. The Quilava looked thoughtful.

“Squirtle, Viper may be right here. There are too many requests to sort through. I'd rather get started now than worry about picking the perfect slat. After all, every one of them was written by a Pokémon that needs help. Don't you agree?”

“Hm. When you put it that way, it sounds more reasonable.” Squirtle folded his arms in front of his chest and looked toward the tunnel's ceiling. He tried to give the impression that he was deep in erudite consideration of the matter. Inwardly, he knew he'd been wrong. Now was the time for action, not careful scheming.

Viper hissed quietly, a pleased sound, and traded looks with Quil, but neither said anything further.

Squirtle spoke again over their silence. “Okay. The next logical step, then, is to gather the team. Do you two want to see if you can find Bein? I'll search for Hayzin, and we can meet back here in an hour.”

In agreement, the three made their way toward the commons of Cavetown. Squirtle appeased the crowd at Team Base with a promise that the team would decide which request to work on once its members were assembled. Viper and Quil split away from him down an adjoining tunnel while he continued straight. The morning's new worries were beginning to bubble into his awareness like a pot of water brought slowly to a boil.

How in the world was his team going to tackle all of the requests on the board? There were way, way too many to make any meaningful difference. He recalled supporting Quil in the speech in the commons to recruit Pokémon for taking back Blindhollow. The weight of the hopes of all of the assembled Pokémon had made him feel nauseous enough to step down, and he felt that same nausea returning now. His team's task was hopeless. The Electric boost had shattered the peace, and there were too many fragments to put back together.

What other option was there though? Sitting back and listening to the horrible tales develop would be worse than doing what little they could. If there were some way to stop the effects of the boost, to prevent the tales from even beginning, there would be no need to travel around addressing the problems. Treat the disease, not the symptoms. However, that was ground that he and Quil had already trod. There was no visible way to tell the source of the boost, and if anyone knew, they would no doubt have already mentioned it. Who knew if it could even be reversed? So they would have to do their best to fight back in the here and now.

Which brought Squirtle back to the task at hand: finding Hayzin. Squirtle cut right and made his way to the commons, ignoring the whispers and glances of the Pokémon he passed. He recalled Viper and Hayzin emerging from a cranny on the wall to join the Blindhollow effort during that speech a few days ago. Maybe that's where he stayed in Cavetown with his family. Upon inspection though, the place was empty. The cranny was little more than a small inlet into the massive cavern's wall: enough only to shield oneself from sight.

Where would I go if I were Hayzin?

On one hand, he was an Electric-type. A member of the persecutors living among the persecuted. He'd want to stay out of the way to not feed Cavetown's ire. Especially those of the Ground-types. On the other hand, he was a hero. Hayzin would be associated with the team that saved Blindhollow. Surely that status would be enough for Hayzin to feel safe and welcomed in Cavetown. Even so, Squirtle felt that Hayzin was a Pokémon who had no desire to embrace the spotlight. He'd keep away from Cavetown's thoroughfares.

Squirtle decided he'd better search the Habitation Caverns first, as the most likely place for a refugee or traveler to stay. After the better part of an hour of peeking into the many caves in the many wings, Squirtle saw neither hide nor tail of the Zebstrika. He tried a more desperate search pattern, and began wandering the less crowded tunnels of the subterranean town. With luck, he'd bump into some rarely-used cave in which Hayzin's family resided for the time being.

Here was a tunnel lined with barrels of fresh water or perhaps a substance more potent, and here a dark cave with an odor like chalk. Finally, Squirtle caught Hayzin's voice as he neared a new cave's entrance. Not willing to interrupt a potentially important family conversation, Squirtle prepared himself to wait patiently outside. Soon, he realized the topic of the conversation marked it as a private one on which he should not be eavesdropping. But Squirtle could not bring himself to walk away. He could tell himself he sought insight into the family life of Pokémon, but he'd be kidding himself. He wanted to know Hayzin's true thoughts on the matters of the Electric boost.

“Yes, but Blindhollow is safe now,” Hayzin was saying. “We can all return, and go back to the life we've been building. The four of us, safe and together.”

The Zebstrika had used a quiet tone he'd never heard before. It was emotional, almost whining. Was this Hayzin, or some Pokémon with a similar voice? The next Pokémon to speak rung a bell in Squirtle's memory, and he recalled the proud Rapidash that had walked at Hayzin's side. Her voice was also subdued, but it bore the poise that Squirtle had come to expect from Hayzin.

“That would be the wrong thing to do. We both know that, Hayzin.”

“There are other Zappers, Flinyta, ones without a family to raise. There are other Grounders that will be able to help, too. In fact, I worked with a Cubone. He'll keep them on course, I've no doubt.”

A snort. The sound of hooves scraping stone.

“You truly think you can stay here in this cave for even a day, sheltered and removed, while your comrades fight? With your conscience light as wind? Come now Hayzin. You want to raise our family out in Blindhollow while knowing there are Pokémon risking all of themselves to help in this crisis?”

There was a pause before Hayzin replied in that same aggrieved tone. “My days of traveling are long past. Now I'm a father above all. That, too, is a great responsibility. Or do you no longer see it that way?”

The Rapidash whinnied and said fiercely, “I'm not the one with insecurities! Your heart will give you no peace if you stay with us, Hayzin, can't you see that? You're too good a Pokémon. You're doomed to your sense of obligation. You see this as your battle too, whether it is or not.”

After a moment's silence, she added, “I won't lie to you. I doubt either of us will find happiness if you go, but regret will be all you feel if you stay.”

So low that Squirtle could barely hear, Hayzin said, “I'll tell Squirtle by afternoon.”

“Good. What time is it, anyway? These closed spaces aren't where we belong. I feel restless...”

Flinyta was still speaking when Squirtle heard the sound of hooves striking rock once again. He initially thought it was coming from the same cave, but the acoustics of the tunnels were playing tricks on him. By the time he realized they were approaching from the tunnel behind him, it was too late for Squirtle to move or hide.

“Squirtle, it's that Squirtle!”

“Hi, Squirtle!”

Two small Ponyta pranced about, apparently very excited to see him. They'd seen him standing outside the cave entrance; they knew he'd been eavesdropping. Or did they? How old were they, exactly? Could they put two and two together? Regardless, he had no good option but to stay and chat.

“Hello Dashard and, er, Rapper right? How are you doing?”

“Dashar and Rappard,” Hayzin corrected as he emerged from the tunnel with Flinyta the Rapidash right behind him. She jerked her muzzle and the two young Ponyta trotted to her side.

“Oh, Hayzin, I've been looking for you. The team's in its final preparations to leave for the next job, so I wanted to ask you if--”

“Yes, Squirtle, I will join you once again. Give me a moment to speak with my family, if you would.”

“Great. I'll wait outside here then, if that's alright.” He spoke as if he hadn't been standing there for the past two minutes. Despite the guilt, he knew he'd have eavesdropped if he had to do it all over again. This time he made an effort to stand away from the cave's entrance and ignore the quiet family conference within.

When the Zebstrika emerged again, this time alone, Squirtle broke eye contact. Hayzin's eyes were misty, even though the short steel-gray hair beneath his eyes remained dry. They walked back through the outskirts' vacant tunnels toward Team Base.

“I think I know what leaving your family means to you,” said Squirtle. “Thank you for coming.”

“Let us fight well,” Hayzin said in a flat voice.

Upon arriving, Squirtle had to stave off the crowd's inquiries and pleas in order to rejoin Quil and Viper by the request board. He was delighted to see Bein present, but the Cubone did not look happy to be there. However, the gloom about Bein vanished and he relaxed once his eyes found Hayzin arriving as well.

“Glad that Hayzin decided to come?” asked Squirtle, as he raised his chin in greeting.

“Electricity on our side is good,” was all Bein said, but Squirtle suspected there was more to it than that.

“Understatement of the year,” chuckled Quil. “Thanks for joining again, Hayzin!” Viper showed her own enthusiasm with an excited hiss.

Hayzin inclined his head. “What now?”

Squirtle ran down the list of remaining preparations in his mind as all eyes turned to him. He raised the three fingers on his hand, one at a time. “Jobs. Recruits. Gear. Then we're ready to go. First we have to decide where we're going and what we're doing. Let's take another look at the request board.”

All of the sketches and text on the board was as overwhelming as it had been that morning for Squirtle, but he tried to take in the information as calmly and analytically as he could this time around.

“We decided earlier today to pick a request without overthinking it,” he said to Bein and Hayzin with his eyes still on the board. “Now's the time when we have to actually choose. Any ideas on how to pick quickly?”

The mass of Pokémon at their back had fallen quiet to hear the assembled team's deliberations, but once it was clear that the time to choose had arrived, the members of the crowd each began lobbying for their own issues to be addressed. Squirtle began to turn and placate them, but Bein stopped him by raising his bone as if to bar Squirtle from the crowd. He spoke in a voice loud enough only for Squirtle to hear.

"Ignore them. Dealt with loudmouths on construction sites before. Give 'em a response and they'll only get louder."

Squirtle nodded, and almost surprised himself at the relief he felt at not having to talk to the crowd. He returned to scanning the board. Karprest showed up more than a couple of times among the requests. When he pictured himself facing Stolt once again, an involuntary shiver ran the length of his spine. If there were any other problematic Electric-types, he'd definitely choose them over trying to conquer the Luxio and his ambition.

Viper's head was swaying between two of the wooden slats. “I've got two requests here for a town named Needleloft in some region called Cradle Vale. Says there's a traditional ceremony happening on the fifth night from tonight, where all the Sneasel in Needleloft are given Razor Claws to see if they're ready to evolve into Weavile. Sounds exciting!”

“Then what's the matter?” asked Hayzin.

“There's a Dedenne that stole every last one of the Razor Claws and won't give them back until after the ceremony. What a 'mon! Why would it go and ruin their little ceremony like that?”

Quil's ruby eyes were roaming over a different slat. This one featured drawings with only a few short words. “This request is for the same place. I think Needleloft is pretty small, but many Sneasel and Weavile live there. The ceremony is a huge tradition that only happens every two years.” His voice held conviction when he looked away from the slat. “We should help them! This request can't wait; their ceremony is only five days away!”

Squirtle began thinking aloud. “It's a small settlement, so there won't be many Pokémon to ally themselves with the Dedenne – forced, or otherwise. If it comes to a physical confrontation, we won't have a massive battle like in Blindhollow. We might not even have to fight it. We only need to get those Claws back and make sure the ceremony happens.” A quick smirk stretched his mouth as he pictured the petite Pokémon in his head. “And it's only a Dedenne.”

“Size doesn't win fights,” said Viper and Bein together. Viper coughed out the hisses that were her laughter, while Bein continued on without emotion.

“We barely won last time. No more risks. Doesn't matter if the Zapper's a Dedenne or an Ampharos.”

“This request's perfect,” said Viper as she inched away from the board to 'pace' around them. “Let's mosey up to Cradle Vale, find Needleloft, beat that Dedenne, and get the Sneasel back their Razor Claws! Lots of 'mon want this job taken care of, so what are we waiting for?”

The team's mood seemed to be positive enough, and no objections were raised. Squirtle thought through it once again. From what information they had, the job really was enticingly simple. And the added concern about the deadline gave this job priority over others. There remained only one point to discuss. He gathered his thoughts and his confidence.

“Perfect, let's take on this Needleloft job. But why not do more? Given the number of Electric boost problems that need to be solved, far and wide, we're never going to even make a dent if we only take on a single job at a time. Can you imagine in a couple of weeks from now having only knocked out one or two of all of these cries for help?”

He waved a pale blue hand at the request board in near-dramatic fashion. After letting that prospect sink in, he said, “At some point, we have to grow. We--”

“Again, we barely won last time,” Bein said. “You think we should split our strength?”

“I acknowledge your point,” said Squirtle, “but one day we will need to divide and conquer. Otherwise setting things right will take a lifetime. I say it's better to split earlier than later. Some of the Pokémon in this crowd are here because we asked for help in the speech yesterday. Our team will grow beyond, perhaps, the strength needed for a probably simple job like the one at Needleloft. The recruits will keep coming the longer we work at restoring these lands. You two aren't the only ones willing to fight for your homes,” he said with significant looks at Hayzin and Viper.

A thoughtful moment passed. The crowd's increasing volume reflected its impatience, but a glare from Bein quieted the Pokémon temporarily. Hayzin responded to Squirtle's idea first.

“With our near defeat at Blindhollow fresh in my mind, I admit I'm reluctant to embrace your plan to undertake multiple requests at one time. We can't count on another inspiring evolution from Quil or a large group of supporters to rush to our aid at the critical moment. However, I see the direction of your thoughts. If your gut tells you that now is the right time to expand our team's focus, then I will support your plans, Squirtle.”

The others, Bein included, followed on the heels of Hayzin's support with tentative nods, and Viper gave a blithe “Sure!” That was enough for Squirtle.

He gave a solemn nod. “Thanks for your support. This is the right time I think. Let's pick another request. Maybe an issue that's not too complicated or difficult to solve, since we're tackling two jobs at once.”

The team studied the board once again for a minute. The first suggestion raised made Squirtle feel like his blood had been mixed with ice.

“Karprest,” said Viper. “That's where you two were coming from eh, Quil, Squirtle? And you, Bein!”

“What?! Why Karprest?” Quil squealed. Squirtle could not agree more.

Viper stared at Quil with her unsettling red eyes before returning her gaze to a slat jam-packed with tiny U-script letters. “You three were there basically ten seconds ago, so you know the situation. I've already seen about four requests for help over there. Best thing is it's not too far to travel so we can go straight to the good part!”

Bein simply nodded agreement. Squirtle and Quil's eyes met. The fear Squirtle saw in his friend's eyes was the same fear he felt inside. No reason was good enough to return to Karprest. Whatever Viper said was irrelevant. Too many disturbing memories had been born there. The overwhelming emotions in Swanna's lodge. The sight of one of the Electric boost's first victims: Keema the Meowth, face-down in the dirt. Fleeing for the safety of a ferry that had already departed. And of course, Stolt's gleeful attacks on Quil and Squirtle. He knew that Quil, too, did not plan on ever returning to Karprest. Being forced to cross the Karp river whether by shell-back or ferry would have been nothing short of traumatic for the water-fearing Quilava.

“Why?” Viper was asking. “What's so spangled about picking Karprest to help?”

“Karprest seems to be as good a choice as any other,” added Hayzin in a puzzled tone, “if not better. You three having recent knowledge of the town and its 'mon makes Karprest a smart choice, yes?”

Everyone was expecting an answer. What could Squirtle say to dissuade them from selecting Karprest? He could not explain his true reasoning without losing face and perhaps all of the respect he'd earned as a team leader and architect of success. Fear would not do as justification. Besides, he could not give the okay on Karprest if Quil was unwilling.

Without any valid ideas jumping to mind, he said, “Can I speak to you privately for a moment Quil?”

The two proceeded further down the Team Base tunnel, enduring stares from the crowd and a knowing grunt from Bein. Once alone, Squirtle spoke without preamble.

“I'm not sure I can go back there. Can you?”

Quil was on all fours, his head low to the ground. He shook his head, but said nothing. Apparently he was still wrestling with his thoughts and feelings. Squirtle turned his attention inward, trying to sort out how he felt and what he should do. Using this private reprieve from the team discussion, Squirtle reckoned he could concoct some reasonable explanation as to why an alternate selection would be more appropriate. But should he? Wasn't Karprest truly the best choice with the limited time they had to decide?

“Neither of us wants to go back there,” said Quil morosely. “But both of us want to do what we can to help the 'mon in places like Blindhollow. This is why we're here, doing what we're doing. Still, it doesn't have to be Karprest. We can help just as much by going somewhere else. Right?”

Squirtle hesitated before forcing himself to say the words. “This is what we signed up for. We decided to do our best to help. As much as I hate the idea of facing Stolt again, Karprest is probably the best choice. Viper and Hayzin are right; we both know what to expect there. I bet the Pokémon there are ready to rebel, too. We heard the murmurings while we were being led out by that Nidorino.”

Quil sounded skeptical. “Really Squirtle? You're saying you're fine returning to Karprest, just because it's the logical thing to do?”

Squirtle turned away, focusing his eyes on nothing as he voiced his honest opinion. “I feel responsible for planning the most sensible strategy possible for us. I believe that's why I'm here as a Pokémon. That means bringing about the greatest good while keeping our odds of success as high as possible. Karprest fits that bill.” He faced Quil once again, finding his friend rising to his hind legs. “Will you go back to Karprest with me?”

Quil closed his eyes, and his frame swelled with a deep breath. He almost looked like he would refuse, but then he cracked an incongruous smile. “Only if we don't go by ferry.”

* * *

Of the thirty or forty Pokémon in the crowd, fourteen were willing to join the team to fight the Electric boost. Of those fourteen, only five were willing to join to help with the Needleloft and Karprest requests in particular. Squirtle didn't see a need for auditions or any other type of screening process. All he needed was reliability and the capacity to battle if need be. The former was guaranteed since these Pokémon were only joining because they were motivated to help their hometowns, and the latter was guaranteed because all Pokémon could fight. It was what Pokémon did best.

Two Houndour hailing from Needleloft, brother and sister, were eager to lend their fierce resolve to the team. In fact they looked ready to return to their home and face the Dedenne themselves if help could not be found in Cavetown. A Sneasel, also from Needleloft, shared their determination. Her stake in the matter was highest of all, as she said she was slated to evolve using one of the Razor Claws. For Karprest, a familiar face came forth from the mass of Pokémon: Peroo. The Tranquill explained that he wasn't particularly concerned with the fate of Karprest, having never visited, but since the problem in Mistyfern Jungle was not being immediately addressed, he had no better way to spend his time than to help set the world right. The way he said it made the idea sound ridiculous, but Squirtle knew that had he truly disdained the spirit of the team, he would not have joined.

In addition to Peroo, a bipedal Pokémon about two feet tall was willing to join to take back Karprest. A black mask surrounded her eyes and part of her short snout on an otherwise blue-furred head. Her sprightly three-toed feet and two dangling head appendages were also black, but most of the rest of her body was blue. Squirtle wasn't sure what Type she might be. Squirtle asked Quil later that afternoon, and was surprised to hear that the Pokémon was the Fighting-type Riolu. The species name rang a bell in his mind. Researchers in the same scientific circles that he had once been privy to were looking into the energy colloquially called 'Aura', and the capabilities of Pokémon that could sense or manipulate it. Squirtle made a mental note to ask her about the matter later to satisfy his curiosity. Maybe the Pokémon in this part of the world didn't use Aura?

Quil showed his caring nature in verifying with the newcomers that they each knew what they were getting into. Were they all completely willing and mentally prepared to fight against supercharged electricity, if necessary? Did they understand that their safety would not be guaranteed? Squirtle asked them, while avoiding Viper's eye, if they could take orders. The question elicited some confusion, but the Tranquill, Riolu, two Houndour, and Sneasel all gave the affirmative, as they had to Quil's questions.

With the full crew assembled and jobs selected, the moment arrived to split into two separate teams. The discussion began with Squirtle, Quil, and Bein being chosen to go to Karprest due to their intel advantage. No question there. Squirtle had no arguments with that, though his stomach gave a lurch of apprehension. With three of the experienced members on one team already, Viper and Hayzin had little choice but to lead the team going to Needleloft. Bein made it no secret that he preferred to stick with Hayzin, but Squirtle threw in the added argument that each team would have a secret weapon if the two remained separate. Bein could nullify any of Stolt's Electric moves, and Hayzin could fight the Dedenne's boosted electricity with his own. The Cubone had the decorum to not protest further after Squirtle had made his point. Squirtle thought he sensed unease from the two Houndour and Sneasel as the teams were being decided, but Quil identified the problem first and addressed the three frankly.

“Hayzin isn't one of the bad Zappers. His head wasn't rattled during the storm. We've all been working with him for days, and he hasn't tried to knock us out, secretly helped out Raizula, or done anything else to lose our trust. I hope there are no hard feelings about him being a Zapper.”

The rest of the veteran team members dutifully agreed with Quil's words. Briefly, Squirtle once again marveled at the courage his friend could now summon with ease when he wanted to speak up. After Quil's words, the Houndour and Sneasel more or less expressed compliance.

“Thank you, Quil,” said Hayzin. “I assure you three, I am perfectly sane and share your goal.”

Perhaps it was in the nature of a Dark-type to be distrustful, as the faces of the three Pokémon still bespoke suspicion. He couldn't blame the newcomers for being wary of any Electric-type at first. Quil, after all, had been very wary of Hayzin during their first meeting on the road. Squirtle could only hope that their experience in Cradle Vale would bring them closer together.

Next, Squirtle recommended that the two teams meet with each of the Pokémon who had posted the requests to gather as much information as possible about the current state of affairs in Needleloft or Karprest. Viper moaned about the time lost, but she was overruled. The Riolu of the team, who had introduced herself as Loria, was naturally one of the Pokémon who'd posted requesting help for Karprest. Along with four other Pokémon in Cavetown, the consensus was that Stolt was ruling with an iron fist, and had kicked out anyone who showed a shred of dissent with his plans for Karprest. He needed to be kicked out himself, and Mayor Biba possibly reinstated. If the Pokémon of Karprest wanted to keep their homes, they had to wear a mask of support for their new dictator and hop to whatever task was asked of them. The description of that living situation elicited a snarl from Squirtle and had Quil growling.

By the time the interviews were over, their own bellies were snarling and growling with hunger. The two teams bumped into each other in the diner. Viper's chatter over food was amusing enough in small doses, but it could not mask everyone's anxiety over the coming challenges and danger. Quil brought up one point that Squirtle had long forgotten.

“Hey, we ought to have team names! If we ever make it into the stories, we'll need catchy names that the storytellers can call us.”

Hayzin smiled patronizingly around his food, and one of the Houndour barked his laughter. Quil looked self-conscious at that reaction and mumbled something into his bowl. Viper came to his rescue with her own enthusiasm.

“Quil, you're bickle-backle right! Best idea all day! What's a good name for your team? How about Team Ember, since your evolution basically won us the battle at Blindhollow?”

Quil retreated further into his meal as he said, “Oh no, it can't be named after me. I only helped.”

Suggestions started popping up around the table like the heads of a Dugtrio bursting out of the ground.

“Team Explosion!”

“Team Zap-stoppers! Or Team Electricity-blockers!

“No, Team Ground, since we stop Zappers.”

“Too easy. Team Huge Power!”

“The Big Bad Attackers!”

“Team Poképals!”

“No way, that's so immature. Team Unstoppable!”

“Team Vicious, or the Vicious Team!”

“Quiet down!” said Hayzin with a snort of annoyance. “Since we're starting anew with two teams, why don't we make names that reflect what we are trying to accomplish? Forget about what has already happened.”

Loria the Riolu spoke into the thoughtful silence that followed. “Team Recover.”

Pensive expressions and murmurs of approval were in plenty around the table at that suggestion.

“Because we're going to recover the Razor Claws from Dedenne, is that right?” asked one of the Houndour. Loria only smiled and lowered her eyes as she took another bite.

“Team Recover it is,” Hayzin said. “And for the other team?” He looked to the Riolu as if he expected her to immediately produce another fitting team name. To Squirtle's great surprise, she did not disappoint. After her eyes momentarily wandered the diner for inspiration, she returned Hayzin's gaze.

“Team Equalize.”

Squirtle thought that choice of word to be slightly hokey and melodramatic, but the others seemed to hold no such opinion. Team Equalize? As if they were heroic figures bringing balance to the world. Well, perhaps that was more accurate than he had allowed himself to believe.

“You got a gift for words, Riolu,” said the Sneasel in a low voice.

“Thank you,” she politely returned. Squirtle eyed her surreptitiously. A mysterious Pokémon was on his team, one he wanted to know more about. There would be time enough later to talk. Quil's eyes were shining with inspiration. Bein's were impassive, as they were most of the time. Peroo was silent, but he looked happy enough with the choice as he refolded his wings.

“Team Equalize we are, then,” Squirtle said.

Following the meal, Squirtle led both teams to a workshop he'd visited the previous day. The Leavanny and group of Durant were expecting him, and since they had prioritized his order as a favor for taking on corrupt Zappers, they had the finished product ready.

Two modified backpacks with more straps than Squirtle had ever seen were carried gingerly to his hands by the steel mandibles of the head Durant. The backpacks had to be an impressive feat for the workshop's team, the way the Durant handled the backpacks with such care. The exterior of each one was covered in pouches of various sizes for easy access, as he had asked. The straps were detachable and their lengths could be changed using buckles and loops so that the backpacks could be fitted securely onto any Pokémon large enough to wear them. The primary material was beige, lightweight, and most importantly, rugged. Squirtle smiled with open wonder as he inspected the backpacks.

“For the gear we'll be bringing to help us at Needleloft and Karprest,” he explained to the Pokémon of the two teams, after thanking the Leavanny and all the Durant. “I know packs of any kind are a rare sight among Pokémon because they, that is, we typically have so few possessions. We can find what little we need on the go. However, our work will be easier if we bring the right tools for the job. I took the liberty of ordering these yesterday. Let's fill them up. To the bank!”

Ignoring the nonplussed expressions of his companions, Squirtle led the way to the strange cavern where Nape had hidden all the items they'd collected. He was beginning to learn not only which tunnels led where, but the optimal routes to get around Cavetown. After an hour of consideration and debate in the cavern, the pouches and main compartment of each backpack were mostly filled. Each had two Cheri Berries for reversing Paralysis, two Oran Berries for the strength to keep fighting, a Blast Seed for help downing a tough opponent, and provisions enough for a few days so time never needed to be wasted foraging. In addition, Team Recover's bag contained the Detect Band for use by Hayzin, and Team Equalize's bag had the Defense Scarf and Special Band for Bein and Squirtle.

“We covered jobs, recruits, and gear, like you said,” said Hayzin to Squirtle. “Now are we ready to leave?”

“Yes. How about we leave tomorrow morning? That way everyone's rested and personal affairs have been attended to. I myself want to run a few more errands before we leave.”

By this point, Squirtle knew that anyone in either team would have agreed to almost any of his proposals as long as he claimed he had a good reason. He'd certainly impressed them with his preparations. By the way some of them looked at him when he revealed his plans and suggestions, he'd have thought the way he foresaw and negated problems before they could occur was nothing short of supernatural. Viper alone appeared indifferent. Squirtle had impressed himself, too. He'd birthed the request board, the bank, the backpacks and gear, other ideas he'd contrived, and even more to come. His decision to give himself to combating the negative effects of the Electric boost was not one he had made idly. When he put himself to a task, he was not sloppy with his efforts. Never had been. He attributed his incredible career successes in his old life primarily to his work ethic and thoroughness.

I need to talk to that Bunnelby foreman. Oh, and see if I can get more wooden panels made for the request board. I'll probably think of more to do on the way, too.

By the time Squirtle withdrew into the packed comfort of his shell at the end of the day, he was almost as tired as if he'd had a day of hiking and battling.

The following day, once everyone was awake and assembled at Team Base, Squirtle led the way through Cavetown. At one of the many forks, he took the path through a smaller tunnel. One of the Houndour was quick to complain.

“Squirtle, the entrance is the other way. I can smell all the Pokémon.”

“Don't worry, this way will work too. That's not Cavetown's only entrance.”

He couldn't help teasing everyone a bit, as he was bubbling with excitement inside at where he was taking them. This was something he'd been looking forward to since he'd first looked into the matter. Something he'd been imagining off and on since speaking with Chando in Blindhollow's Prison. Squirtle thought he heard snippets of whispers behind his back as they continued up a sloped tunnel, but his elation drowned out all possible negative emotions. After the next fork, which took them even farther away from Cavetown's main entrance, the tunnel led into one of the larger caverns that Squirtle had visited in Cavetown.

While this cavern was lit by the glowing fungi like the rest of Cavetown, a large hole in the ceiling held the promise of natural sunlight. Like an enormous chimney, the cavern's roof seemed to fall away into that central shaft. Flying Pokémon intermittently came and went through that hole. A Pidgey here, a Zubat there. Even one Flygon. Some of the larger Pokémon flew bearing others on their backs or carrying them in their appendages. Squirtle felt a thrill at the sight, as he had the first time he'd come to the cavern.

“Welcome back, Squirtle. Ready to depart?” said a Salamence affably, as he approached on four legs like tree trunks. Another Salamence was at his side, sizing up the Pokémon who followed behind Squirtle. Each wore a harness with countless small loops of rope sticking up off the Salamence's back in a grid-like pattern.

Squirtle nodded twice, his face split by a wide smile.

The lead Salamence laughed as if Squirtle had dropped a joke. “First-time fliers are usually one or the other: wild with excitement, or completely terrified.”

“Yeah. Not flying today,” Bein said as he clutched his bone close. His voice was pitched high.

With an introduction featuring attempted biting, both Salamence introduced themselves. The lead one was named Magon. Squirtle counted himself fortunate that Bein was the only one who uncompromisingly refused to utilize the Salamence's service. All the others were, at the least, willing to ride. Some were thrilled like Squirtle. Quil was beside himself with excitement, and the two shared a moment of giddy laughter. Convincing Bein to ride, however, ate up the better part of an hour. It took Magon's assurances that he'd been a carrier for years, that he had a perfect record for safe transports, and reports of clear weather outside from multiple Pokémon before the Cubone allowed himself to be helped up onto Magon's broad, teal-colored back. Bein's bone shook as he held it, and his eyes were wide within the eye sockets of his skull helmet.

The presence of Hayzin and Viper on the other Salamence's back made it look rather cramped, but he assured his passengers that he'd managed even bigger loads in the past. Hayzin looked uncomfortable himself, and Squirtle watched his lips moving to say something to Viper. In response, she slithered her body beneath the belly of the Salamence and back up the other side, completely encircling him. Hayzin lay down with Viper securing him flat to the Salamence's back. The sight reminded Squirtle of a giant seat-belt, a device with which the Pokémon here would be unfamiliar.

“So long as my wings are free to move, I'm comfortable if you're comfortable,” the Salamence said in an amused voice.

Magon, bearing Team Equalize, craned his neck to the side and fixed Squirtle with one eye. “And what's our destination today, Squirtle?”

“Karprest,” he said with spirit.

“Karprest. Understood,” the Salamence repeated. He swept his gaze over his other passengers: Quil, Bein, Peroo, and Loria. “Today we can expect an easy flight, as there's nothing to worry about on this route. If holding the loops makes you more comfortable, please do so. Should we be attacked by a wild Flyer, I'll subdue it with no trouble. If you feel compelled to help, please warn me ahead of time what you plan to do, so I'm not surprised. Be at ease knowing that should you somehow fall, I will have plenty of time to catch you. I have only one rule: do not touch my wings. Any concerns or questions today, or are we ready to fly?”

None were raised. Magon turned his attention to the aperture in the ceiling. Squirtle could not resist playfully rustling Quil's fur beside him, and his friend beamed with mirrored anticipation.

“Here we go!” bellowed the Salamence, and leaped into the air. He surged forward and upward as his red wings beat downward, then again, and again. The shaft swiftly loomed toward them, then swallowed them whole. Magon tilted upward, bearing them out of the cavern. Squirtle squinted against the growing daylight, though his excitement only rose.

As Team Equalize soared out of Cavetown, Quil shouted over the roar of wind.

“Your reign is over Stolt!”


	28. Fly

“Never thought I'd be flying without using the old flappers. Quite a pleasant experience, I say.”

Peroo spread his wings enough to briefly lift away from Magon the Salamence, but the hold his talons had on one of the harness loops kept him attached. Squirtle, Quil, and Loria held onto their own loops of rope, but none gripped a loop more firmly than Bein. He even held the loop with his eyes as he stared fixedly downward, presumably to keep the sky and clouds out of his vision. Or more importantly, the landscape that was racing by far below them.

The first of Weird Wood's trees crossed beneath as they glided down the mountainside. Squirtle picked a tree that he estimated to be half a mile further along their flight path, and counted the seconds until it passed by below. Fifty six seconds. A quick calculation. Magon was flying approximately thirty miles per hour. But how far was Karprest? How long would the flight be?

Right on cue, Magon swung his head to the side to look back at his passengers. “Our flight time will be no more than two hours. Shout if you have any worries I can help with.”

Squirtle half-expected a groan from Bein at the announcement, but the Cubone continued staring silently at the hoop he grasped. Had he even heard the Salamence? Squirtle had asked Bein to wear the backpack, which he'd agreed to with no complaint despite the ridges on his back. Now, in Bein's current miserable state, he felt the sting of guilt in burdening Bein so much. Squirtle reached out a hand to clasp the Cubone's shoulder in support. He twitched in surprise and looked up only for a second.

“It's faster this way,” Squirtle said loudly so he could be heard over the wind. “We'll be in Karprest before you know it!”

“Should. Not. Have. Come.”

From anyone else, Squirtle might have interpreted the pauses between each word as a dramatic way of fishing for sympathy, but coming from Bein, he knew that the Cubone genuinely needed that recovery time in order to put the sentence together. Squirtle squeezed Bein's shoulder and withdrew. He could do nothing further, and he was not going to apologize. Greater issues were at stake than one Pokémon's fear of heights or flying.

Quil, in contrast, had had a smile etched onto his face since take-off. The spiky flames atop his head shook and rippled from the action of the wind, and his ears were laid low. He caught Squirtle's eye.

“This makes me wish I'd hatched as a Charmander. They get to look forward to flying as a Charizard one day!”

Squirtle laughed. “I can look forward to weighing in at a couple hundred and having two cannons on my back, so I can't complain.”

“We won't be able to fly, but you can still 'fly' underwater.”

“That can't compare to this.” He held out his arms to indicate the clear skies all around them. Yet even as he said that flying was more enjoyable than swimming, his gut rebelled against his words with a twinge of discomfort. He'd been lying, and he only now realized that. Swimming brought him a sense of peace and clarity that not even this wonderful, expansive world of blue could offer.

Quil's turn to laugh. “A Wet who'd rather fly than swim?”

Squirtle shook his head to dismiss the matter. “Wait, you don't want wings. You told me, on that first night in Karprest, that you didn't want to have to go on your Pilgrimage. You said--” Quil flinched and gave him a pleading look. Squirtle cut himself off short.

Quil doesn't want me to talk about this? It must be a point of embarrassment for him that he wishes he didn't have to go on an arduous journey. Hm, that does make sense. Oops. I shouldn't have brought it up when anyone else might hear us.

“I remember what I said,” Quil said, and Squirtle could hear the strain in his voice over the wind. He cautiously shifted his position to a loop adjacent to Squirtle's. When he spoke again, it was quiet enough that no one else would be able to hear. “What I mean is that it'd be fantastic to be able to fly, as long as I didn't have to struggle through a thousand hardships and worries in order to evolve up to a Charizard.”

“You're going through that right now by fighting against these supercharged Electric-types,” Squirtle pointed out. “But it's worth it, isn't it?”

“Definitely!”

“So wouldn't it also be worth it to earn your wings, so to speak?”

“I don't think so. I'd still be happier at home, not having to worry about battling, getting tougher, trying my best every day.”

Squirtle hesitated before bringing up another sensitive subject. “If I recall, you weren't exactly relieved to evolve into a Quilava without having to journey all the way to that volcano.”

“That's different,” Quil said immediately. “I was upset because you triggered my evolution. And like I said, I'm glad now that I evolved in such a short time.”

Squirtle considered that before replying with another question. “Would you feel as satisfied helping out against the Electric-types if it were easy to set things right? If we could fix Karprest, for example, by showing up and asking Stolt to leave?”

Quil frowned as he looked out past the Salamence's head to the grassland of Blind Prairie. “No, I'd feel like we were cheating. Freeing Karprest that way probably wouldn't be very rewarding.”

“A hollow victory.” Squirtle smiled and didn't reply, his point made.

Quil made a grumbling, growling sound in his throat. “Ruining this gorgeous scenery with your deep questions and sly suggestions.”

“I apologize.” He meant it, too. Proving someone's beliefs wrong, even if it was for their own good, always felt condescending and callous to some degree. “I don't mean to sound like a know-it-all, I just wanted to get my point across without being so blunt about it. Being a know-it-all is how I accomplish that sometimes I suppose.”

“It's fine, it's fine.”

Squirtle went over the conversation in his mind for a few minutes, cursing his smug attitude. Next, he decided to talk to Loria. For the advancement of the world's understanding of science, he wanted to learn about her relationship with Aura. Or at least his personal understanding. By moving with care from loop to loop, he moved three feet toward Magon's tail to place him next to the Riolu.

“I've never spoken with a Riolu or Lucario before. Is it true that you can use Aura?”

Loria's gaze meandered away from the views down below to come upon Squirtle's own eyes. Her pupils were tall and narrow, almost like a Meowth's.

“Only Lucario.”

Loria was not forthcoming with further explanation, though she did keep her attention on Squirtle.

“I see. What about Riolu like yourself?”

“With experience and practice, I might one day direct Aura into tangible shapes. Barriers of light. Globes of force. On that day I will evolve. Today, I can only feel Aura when I am near. It shies away from my touch if I pull.”

Squirtle compared her description with the paper abstracts about Aura studies that he could recall. As best as experts in that field could tell, Aura was a byproduct of the biochemical processes within certain neurons in the body. “Hm. Aura comes from life, right? Specifically, life with a consciousness, no matter how rudimentary. Not trees, for example.”

A smile touched her short snout. “You've conversed with others in my line about Aura. Does Aura fascinate you so?”

“I've only heard about it. I'd like to know more. My curiosity gets the better of me for interesting phenomena like Aura.”

Loria finally looked away, to the skies above the distant horizon. “Aura ebbs from every Pokémon, like the slime from Sliggoo.”

Her mouth was open to say more, but she closed it when Squirtle laughed at her description. He couldn't help it. Was that supposed to a beautiful simile? Comparing an enigmatic energy to a Pokémon's natural goo secretions?

“Sorry. I'm really getting on the nerves of everyone in Team Equalize today without meaning to. I must be in a good mood,” he reflected. “I do love it when my plans come together. That's probably the reason.”

Loria was looking at him again. “The fashion of your words is strange to me. Have others told you the same?”

“They certainly have. No doubt you've received the same treatment?”

“Often. Your questions are like the flames of your friend.” She lifted a forepaw to point at Quil. “They blaze continuously.”

Squirtle sighed. “I know. Like I said, I'm a curious Pokémon. So where are you from that you talk so differently?”

She smiled, and Squirtle realized he'd instantly asked another question. “Singing is my greatest joy. I choose my words shrewdly, and speak only after I've considered them. I hope my songs shine with more beauty, for that care I have with my words.” Her smile faded. “Even calling myself a singer, I'm unused to speaking as much as this. Why are you so interested in me?”

It was the sort of question that didn't expect an answer. Squirtle provided one anyway. “You're different from the Pokémon I've met. I know we're a diverse lot, but you strike me as an exception from the few hours I've spent in your company. You look and sound like you're above it all, but at the same time, you're living in the present more than anyone. That doesn't even make sense, but that's how I feel.” He looked away. “Anyway, I don't mean to be a chatter-box.”

“Truly? Of all the Pokémon you've met in your travels, my disposition is unique?” He could see her searching his face with those slit pupil eyes.

What was she trying to imply? He'd just explained how her demeanor was so different from that of others. “I believe so. You--”

Then the realization struck him with the force of a slap across the face. Warmth rose into his face, and the cold wind was helpless to cool it down. He looked at her for a second with a mix of incredulity and horror to verify if she'd meant to be so flirtatious. As he watched, her mouth fell open, a mirror to his own. Her eyes were wide before she jerked her face away.

Squirtle was absolutely unprepared for the situation. What did he say, or do? Did he want her interest? Was she only pretending to have been clueless, or had her words and intent gaze been intentionally flirtatious? He frantically glanced at the other members of the team, to see if they'd heard their words over the wind. Peroo met his gaze, but the Tranquill's peaceful expression indicated ignorance. Bein was in his own world. Quil's back was to them. Maybe he'd heard?

“My words did not carry the intent that you heard in them,” Loria said.

Squirtle still had no idea how he wanted this conversation to end. If at all. Remaining silent didn't seem like a good option though, so to acknowledge her he simply said, “Okay.”

The silence between them stretched. Squirtle found he couldn't think properly with the source of his discomfort sitting next to him. He got to his feet and returned to the loop he'd originally been holding, this time with reckless speed.

Gradually, his thoughts fell into line. Foremost among them was the looming fact that he couldn't afford to worry about this at the moment. Like with Bein, any personal dilemma he was facing was negligible in importance. The fate of Karprest was in the hands of Team Equalize. Squirtle refused to worry about the possibility of a romantic relationship with Loria instead of attending to matters such as how to depose Stolt without having to battle. He refused to replay the conversation with her. He refused to think about what she might be thinking now. He refused, even, to examine his own feelings about the Riolu. He put all thoughts about Loria out of his head, and promised himself that he would think no more of the matter while on the Karprest job.

Of course, Squirtle was quickly reminded that you always think about what you're trying to avoid thinking about.

After some minutes of mental wrestling, Squirtle stood abruptly. He decided to talk to Peroo. If the team was forced into battle together, having had at least a conversation with each member seemed a requirement. How could teammates trust one another in danger if they hadn't even exchanged a few words in safety? Peroo was the last Pokémon remaining.

Peroo was agreeable, even charming in the way he spoke so easily and rapidly. Squirtle avoided bringing up Mistyfern Jungle and Peroo's request for assistance there, as he didn't want to provoke any bad feelings about his team selecting Karprest and Needleloft instead. They talked about Peroo's experience with flying, and how he felt about flying for once without his own efforts. The Flying-type explained some of the intricacies of flight about which Squirtle was oblivious. How the land's topography affected the currents of wind in the air. How land temperature gave rise to warm columns of rising air called thermals. He responded to Squirtle's inquiries about how clouds and rainclouds affected a Pokémon's flight, too. Peroo politely asked about Squirtle's experiences beneath the water's surface, a realm which the Tranquill had never explored.

The conversation was light and pleasant despite Squirtle's nagging thoughts about his previous conversation. After a few minutes, Squirtle excused himself, as he wanted to save some time to strategize and worry over the team's approach to the Karprest problem.

First, he made his way to the base of Magon's neck, and shouted to get the carrier's attention.

“How can I help?” the Salamence asked.

“What's your policy on the return trip?” Squirtle said.

“You received a large discount for this portion due to the charitable nature of this trip. We all want to support you how we can. That can't change the fact that the carrier business is booming from all the unrest, and that we're forfeiting a considerable amount of Poké to help out.” Magon's tone continued to be professional as he finished. “I don't love gold as much as the average Cofagrigus, but I can't offer the same discount to return. My apologies, Squirtle.”

He'd expected as much. “No problem. We'll likely return on foot then, save for our resident Tranquill of course. One more thing: would you care to join us at Karprest? Your presence, and should it come to it, battling skill, would definitely increase our odds of being successful. You'd be helping a great deal of Pokémon.”

“Fight well, Squirtle, but I can't help you in Karprest. Zappers these days are more than I'm willing to become involved with, though you have my respect and gratitude for for doing what you do.”

Again, Squirtle had expected as much. “Very well. I hope we can do business again in the future.”

“Yes, I hope to see you again, Squirtle.” Magon straightened his neck to its neutral position.

With the matter of the return trip out of the way, the only puzzle remaining was the most significant one. Karprest. Squirtle chose a loop of the harness closest to Magon's left foreleg so he could watch the grasses of Blind Prairie roll by hundreds of feet below without distraction. The view was perfect for a good, steady pondering. He had, of course, already considered what they were getting into and how best to solve the issue at Karprest, but now the moment was nearly at hand. It would not do to arrive without being certain of their method.

Squirtle was not bothered by his teammates while zoned out. Now and then he heard conversation striking up and eventually concluding, but Squirtle was left alone to his thoughts for a full hour.

“I smell smoke,” Quil declared in a shout. His voice was more curious than alarmed.

“And that there's the fire,” said Peroo, pointing a wing earthward. All save Bein followed his point.

An arc of grasses a hundred feet long was being consumed by a blaze. The fire showed no sign of spreading, so defined was its shape. No way it was a natural phenomenon.

“What Pokémon might cause that?” he shouted to Magon. Though maybe Quil would know better, being a Fire-type and resident of a similar grassland.

“Fletchinder,” said Magon, composed as ever. “They make a wall of hot flames to trap 'mon into fighting them. If a Fletchinder is active down there with the wild in its eyes, prepare yourselves for some choppiness in our flight. Again, nothing to worry about.”

This time, Bein did groan. The others ranged from neutral to excited about the news. Squirtle was opposed to any hiccup in their flight plan, but couldn't deny that part of him was riled up by the thought of battle. Especially one in the skies.

“There! It's coming, fast! I'm using my Ember!” called Quil over the wind, and Squirtle watched him spray motes of light overboard.

“Everyone hold a loop, please,” said the Salamence. He checked with one eye to make sure everyone was complying with his instruction..

Squirtle's reflexive yell joined his companions' chorus of surprise as Magon took a nosedive. The Salamence arched his neck toward his belly, and purple light flashed from the belly side of Magon. His body followed his neck, placing everyone upside-down. Were Magon not still accelerating earthward and pressing his passengers against his back, Squirtle was certain he would have fallen into empty space. When Magon smoothly rolled upright, a Fletchinder trailing purple flames drifted downward past them, its whole body lax.

“Is everyone al--” began Magon.

A second Fletchinder, this one flapping like mad, reached their altitude and pecked at Loria. She raised her arms to guard against the tapered beak, releasing the loop. The Fletchinder screeched as it landed a strike on her forehead. Her head jerked backward and she toppled, backflipping off the Salamence. The Fletchinder followed after her.

“No!” Squirtle shouted. He had half a mind to heroically leap after her, but really, what would that accomplish?

“I'll snag her, back in a jiffy,” said Peroo before following the Fletchinder with a flourish of his wings.

“Loops!” called Magon over his shoulder, and yawed to his left while keeping his right wing raised. The motion sent Squirtle's innards to acrobatics, but he held on. The wind howled all around. The ground below was tilted at a crazy angle. Agonizing seconds later, the three Pokémon came into view.

The Fletchinder was rolling from side to side, its wings opening, now closed, now open again. The agile maneuvers looked like a warm-up, or display of its speed. Loria slowly rotated in free fall, completely disoriented by the looks of it. Peroo was hovering above her, making minute adjustments to the angle of his wings to slowly descend atop the falling Riolu. His talons were open and ready to grasp when he made contact. Blind Prairie approached with terrifying rapidity. Squirtle saw that every combatant would only have time enough for one or two moves before they had to ascend or meet an abrupt halt on the ground.

Peroo finally clamped down on Loria's shoulders with both talons and began to flap like Squirtle had never seen him flap before. While Peroo looked comical trying to lift a load larger and heavier than his own body, Squirtle had no doubt he would succeed. He was a Pokémon, after all. The Fletchinder appeared to descend by comparison, before it flapped upward to match Peroo. Its beak opened, and fiery embers like Quil's flurried out into Peroo's face. He squawked and shook his head, enduring the attack, and continued to rise. Immediately afterward, the Fletchinder executed an especially powerful flap, its two wingtips touching below its body, and launched itself into Peroo's exposed belly. At that, Peroo's hold on Loria was broken. Squirtle was amazed at how quickly the Fletchinder was performing its attacks.

“Water Gun!” shouted Squirtle to Magon as he readied his technique. For a moment, he was distracted by how silly he sounded in announcing the move he was about to use. Had the Salamence not requested a warning, he definitely would have kept his mouth shut. Not only was it an unnecessary waste of time and breath, but it told the enemy exactly what he was about to do.

His Water Gun was useless, as with all the sound and motion and wind, the water arced way off-target and quickly broke up into harmless droplets. He had to drop and hold the loop tightly again as Magon rolled and lowered his altitude even further to get below Loria. The ground was mere seconds away.

Quil extended his slim body upward as Magon brought his body beneath her. She would have landed perfectly onto Magon's back anyway, even if Quil hadn't hastened the process by pulling her down a second earlier. Then Magon was pointing downward and turning his nosedive into a huge arc forward then upward into the open blue. At the bottom of the arc, the ivory claws of the Salamence's feet flicked against Blind Prairie's tallest blades of grass.

Peroo landed smoothly back onto Magon by soaring toward the upward-rising Salamence. Squirtle turned to watch the Fletchinder behind Magon's long tail. It flapped with an impressive tempo, but even it could not keep up with Magon's speed now.

“Loops!” he called one more time. For once, Squirtle heard a measure of irritation in his voice. He arced even further, facing his belly to the sky and putting Blind Prairie above their heads. Squirtle spotted the Fletchinder directly below, and rising. Then Squirtle was pitched backward along with Magon's other passengers as the Salamence rotated forward forcefully and dropped toward the Fletchinder. His somersault continued, and Squirtle's could feel muscles bunching within the Salamence as he did something with his tail. A sound like a loud slap, then a muffled cry from the Fletchinder. Finally, after a full somersault and a half, Magon came to rest in his normal horizontal orientation.

When Squirtle's equilibrium had recovered, which was thankfully very quickly, he leaned over the side to check what had become of the Fletchinder. The Flying-type was rocketing downward, and slammed into the grasses far below as Squirtle watched.

Ouch. Magon must have smacked the Fletchinder with his tail. He certainly knows how to win a fight in the sky.

“Those two were a mated pair,” said Magon to his passengers. “I wasn't expecting the second. I should have warned you all, my apologies.”

“Eh, forget about it, no lasting harm done,” said Peroo. He'd suffered the worst in the encounter, having sustained two attacks from the feisty Fletchinder. Fortunately, he didn't look hurt so badly that he wouldn't make a full recovery by the time the team arrived at Karprest.

“Is everyone else alright?” asked Quil with concern.

Everyone, save Bein, replied with an affirmative. Throughout the entire fight, he'd remained fixed on the loop he held. Squirtle was reminded of Quil's posture on the ferry across the Karp river, and felt a surge of pity for the Cubone. Bein was probably doing everything he could to shut out the world around him. Loria seemed hardly rattled by her unexpected fall. She'd returned to her serene self within a minute.

Squirtle raised his voice to Magon. “What happened to 'Should we be attacked by a wild Flyer, I'll subdue it with no trouble'?”

“What do you mean? Each Fletchinder was knocked out by a single one of my techniques.”

“I'd say that battle put us in serious jeopardy, Magon. Are you telling me you had the situation perfectly under control?”

“Yes, Squirtle.” His voice was smoothly professional. “The second Fletchinder was unexpected, but I prioritized resecuring my lost passenger, followed by eliminating the wilder. No one was in danger of striking the ground. I apologize if you felt you were endangered. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” Squirtle said with a huff. “You've done enough, I think.”

Peroo hopped over to him. “Don't be too hard on the 'mon, you've got to be twice as strong as your average Unfezant to make it in the carrier career. Hm, carrier career, that's a tough couple words. Magon knows how to carry, I'm sure of it.”

“Carry, yes. Carry safely? Doubtful. You got the worst of it. I'm surprised you're defending him.”

“Only a battle, and a fun one at that. The boredom of the easy flight was getting to me anyway.”

Arguing further was pointless, and Peroo wasn't the problem. “Mm. I'm going back to thinking for a while. Oh, and thanks for going after Loria. That's the kind of teamwork we need today.”

“Right, not a problem.”

The remainder of the flight was smooth sailing save for one last interruption by a Pidgeot. It was cruising at a lower altitude than Magon, but it nonetheless noticed him and broke off its course to approach with a battle-cry. Before it could get closer than a stone's throw away, Magon roasted it with a beam of purple dragon-fire from his mouth. The Pidgeot wasn't knocked right out, but it did abandon its plan of approaching.

When the sparkling waters of the wide Karp River came into sight in the west, Squirtle called for a team meeting around the stationary Bein. Quil had been looking at him expectantly when he turned away from his apparent silent contemplation of the view, but Peroo and Loria were perplexed at his desire to talk strategy. Together, they reviewed what they knew of Karprest. Loria was especially helpful, since she'd been there the most recently. Squirtle practically had to drag longer descriptions from her throat because of her disinclination to speak at length in any plain terms.

A discussion about their approach to the Stolt problem followed. As usual, suggestions from Squirtle's teammates were few and far between. From the way they reacted to his complex thinking, he guessed that Peroo and Loria were content to stroll into Karprest, find Stolt, battle him, and kick him out. The method might work, but Stolt would probably come back and try again, especially once Team Equalize took its leave of the town. Plus, that 'plan' wouldn't guarantee the establishment of firm leadership in place of Stolt, or minimize risks to the team's personal health and freedom. Squirtle ultimately explained what he had in mind, and after some slight modifications from the others' input, all agreed to follow it. With Viper absent, Squirtle had confidence that their compliance to the plan would be high, though either of the newcomers could prove to be a wild card.

Squirtle raised his voice to their Salamence carrier and told him how his team would prefer to dismount at Karprest. Magon's acceptance of the idea was borderline.

“This was not in the agreement we had, Squirtle, but I can accommodate your request since I will not be lingering in the area. What you propose is what we call an Inverted Dorsal Emergency Drop in the carrier business. Be sure to hold tightly to the loops of my harness, and I'll give a shout at the appropriate time as a signal. I'll reduce my speed at the final moment to facilitate your landings.”

“Could you make that a roar? A loud one? That works better for my plans.”

A pause. “That's not a problem. I recommend your Cubone companion take care during landfall. He looks unsteady at the moment. Do you have any questions about the procedure?”

“No,” Squirtle said bluntly. “Once we visually locate Stolt, we'll be ready to do that Inverted...whatever maneuver.”

“Understood.”

When the maneuver was explained to Bein, it took over a minute for him to agree to it with a reluctant grunt. Squirtle knew that even in the depths of his anxiety, and perhaps nausea, Bein could see how this manner of finishing their journey to Karprest might prove beneficial to their success with the job.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Squirtle said as he opened one of the backpack's pouches and pulled out the Defense Scarf and Special Band. He tied the former around Bein's neck to drape over the straps across his chest, and the latter around the top of his shell. Again, he felt no different, but he knew from experience that the cloth's power would serve when the time came.

The beautiful blue waters of the Karp passed beneath them as Quil became abruptly interested in the featureless sky above. Magon began their descent to Squirtle's desired altitude of twenty feet. Once they were most of the way across the river, Quil finally lowered his eyes. From each of Magon's shoulders, Squirtle and Quil scanned the alleys and roads of Karprest for the black, blue, and yellow of a certain Luxio.

“Pokémon are clearing away the plants around the dock area,” Quil said. “Making room for more tents or buildings?”

“They're building watercraft, too,” Squirtle pointed out. He could see the frameworks of simple boats like canoes and larger ones like the Karprest ferry. Multiple Pokémon were currently working on them with their construction materials on hand. They craned their heads and watched as the Salamence brought them over the docks and into Karprest proper. More Pokémon watched their approach, and Squirtle could hear them reacting to the Salamence's presence.

“That's new,” Quil said with a foreleg pointing to the landward edges of Karprest. There, a multitude of Pokémon were at work within partly-completed large circular walls.

“An arena for competition,” Loria explained from behind them. She was also peering down at the town below. “They have been busier than Combee in a flowered meadow since I left.”

Squirtle swept his eyes through the rest of Karprest and was surprised to find so many Pokémon out and about. All were involved in one task or another, bustling about and chatting like the inhabitants of any other town in the afternoon. He couldn't see any indicators of unrest, or anything particularly amiss. The mood of Karprest could not be more different than Blindhollow's had been. But the truth would be difficult to spot from such a detached vantage point. They needed to get in there. Get to the heart of matters.

“Stolt. There he is,” Quil said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Squirtle followed his gaze and spotted the Luxio in a clearing at the center of town. He recognized the house on the clearing's edge, raised on supports like all the other buildings as a countermeasure to flooding. It was the mayor's house, where Biba the Bibarel had argued with Stolt on Squirtle's first day. Pokémon were coming and going at the clearing, never tarrying long. Like it was a command post.

Standing next to a familiar Nidorino, Stolt's face was upturned, watching them soar low over the buildings. Squirtle couldn't make out his expression at that distance, but his mind filled in the blanks with a sour frown and malicious, disdainful eyes. He looked away, and swallowed.

“Alright Magon, take us in! Thanks for the almost-smooth ride.”

“Fight well,” said the Salamence again as he angled toward Stolt.

Suddenly everyone atop the carrier's back looked alive with nervous energy, even Bein. Peroo's head twitched this way and that, and he kept refolding his wings. Squirtle shared his apprehension. They were both weak to electricity, after all. Not that it would matter against a supercharged Electric-type technique. Anyone but a Grounder would be wiped out. Squirtle licked his hard lips.

“This is it!” said Quil as the buildings of Karprest rushed by. His eyes were alive with some inner fire. “Our chance to help! I know it's scary, trust me, I do. But I'm going to confront Stolt so Pokémon don't have to live scared. So they can live their life however they want. This is our one chance to make that possible for the 'mon down there. I believe in Squirtle's plans, and you should too. Let's introduce Team Equalize to that Luxio!”

Squirtle joined his voice with those of his teammates, though their cries could barely be called a cheer.

It was far better than nothing.

“Remember,” Squirtle said in the final seconds of their approach, “shock and awe. Give them your most impressive entrance. Intimidate them. We're Team Equalize!”

“Loops!” Magon called over his shoulder.

They each clutched a loop of rope as the central clearing began passing by underneath them. Squirtle pulled up on his curled fingers to keep his feet pressed against the Salamence's back. He would need that pressure for the maneuver Magon was about to perform. His blue-black claws dug into the fibers of the rope with his tight grip.

The Salamence bellowed a truly impressive roar that startled Squirtle with its majesty. The signal!

Time for Team Equalize to make an entrance.


	29. Bully

Dorin's purple horn tracked the Salamence as it soared toward him at the center of Karprest. At his side, Stolt was now watching too. The discussion of the shipwright's work ethic would have to wait. Evidently this Salamence was about to interrupt them, and as a general rule, ignoring a Salamence was a bad idea.

“What's this now?” Stolt muttered, and Dorin could hear the irritation in his voice at the arrival. “A carrier by the looks of it.”

Now Dorin could see at least two small Pokémon atop the Salamence's back, each reaching down to clutch something tightly and then standing up tall. A Quilava and a Squirtle. What was it about that pairing that reminded Dorin of some incident a week or two ago? He remembered feeling angry, tricked by some simple ruse.

“Stolt, it's that Cyndaquil and Squirtle, the ones you zapped on your first day as mayor!”

“Yes Dorin, I remember.” His preoccupied tone suggested he'd already experienced that realization. “Why have they returned? Those two don't live here, and they certainly wouldn't want to face me again if they had any choice.”

Dorin barely gave half an attempt to actually thinking up a possible reason, since Stolt or Karprest's other higher-ups usually caught onto things before he did. Stolt was being rhetorical anyway. He gave his usual response.

“Not sure.”

The Salamence roared as it passed overhead. Dorin cringed and rotated his large ears to face the dirt in order to avoid the brunt of the blast of sound. When he looked back up, the Salamence was in the middle of an easy roll, putting its passengers standing upside-down on its back. At the same time, each one of them let go of the ropes they were holding and dropped. Dorin could see that every eye in the clearing was fixed on the scene as a Quilava, Squirtle, Riolu, Tranquill, and Cubone fell through the twenty feet of air to the ground in front of the mayor's house.

The Riolu slowly flipped in mid-air to land on its feet just in time. It gazed up at him and Stolt with a placid expression. The Cubone had placed its feet below it as soon as it dropped from the Salamence. It shuddered once it landed, dug its hands into the dirt, and hugged the ground. A pack hugged its back thanks to straps wrapped around its chest. Dorin narrowed his eyes and peered closely. That was Bein! Why had Bein come back, and why was he with all these other 'mon?

The Tranquill pierced the air beak-first as it descended. It spun and spun, finally stopping an instant before the ground by flaring its wings wide open with an audible crack of wind. It settled its pink talons lightly onto the ground before looking up at Stolt with curious eyes. The Quilava twisted through the air like an Ekans, showing off the two colors of his body. Once he landed on all fours, his head shot up with his eyes locked onto Stolt's. The spots on his body sizzled and ignited with a whoosh of air.

The Squirtle performed a single flip like the Riolu and landed on two feet. Immediately, he strode to the front of the group and threw out his arm with one finger pointing up the wooden steps to where Dorin and Stolt stood watching the arrival of the five Pokémon from the porch.

“Stolt! Your reign over Karprest has come to an end.”

The Quilava darted up to the Squirtle's side, fires blazing. “We're Team Equalize, and we're here on behalf of the Pokémon in Karprest as well as those who have fled!”

Dorin had moved to stand in front of Stolt. As an enforcer of the new law and one of Stolt's attendants, he was responsible for the Luxio's safety. Not that Dorin's protection was required. Or even helpful. Stolt, like all Zappers, was monstrously powerful now. Still, Dorin would not stand by while all these 'mon prepared to attack Stolt. If their strength in battle matched the competence displayed in their arrival, these Pokémon were no Metapod to simply shove aside.

“Thank you, but no,” Stolt murmured into one of his ears. Dorin stepped aside but pointed his horn at the Quilava. That Pokémon had spirit. But enough spirit to beat Stolt in a battle? Not a chance.

* * *

“Team Equalize, was it?” asked Stolt as he padded down the staircase. He placed each paw with measured care as if he were worried he might trip. His eyes, in contrast, were roaming leisurely over the team. Stolt was drawing out the moment. More Pokémon were gathering at the outskirts of the clearing, no doubt drawn by their sightings of Magon. A Lotad, Swanna from the lodge, a Mightyena, a pair of Marill. The Salamence hadn't been subtle, which Squirtle actually appreciated in this case. He wondered if Stolt wanted a crowd of spectators as much as he did.

Assuming Stolt's pride has only grown since the day he discovered his Electric boost, it's fair to say he wants a crowd simply because he loves having eyes on him, thought Squirtle.

He didn't lower his voice during his argument with Mayor Biba, he was extremely smug after knocking out Quil, and now he's drinking in the drama of the scene we've caused. Maybe I can use that pride against him somehow.

“A team of five 'mon dedicated to ousting me from my position as mayor? I'm flattered.”

Squirtle stepped closer to Quil without taking his eyes off of Stolt or changing his steely expression. With any luck, the move would look like a tactical change of position in response to Stolt's advance. And with any luck, his heart would stop racing.

No, he can't come any closer, I don't want him to come any closer. If he uses that Electric technique again we won't have time to respond! Please, stay back. Stay back!

“Stay back!” he shouted, fighting to bring his voice under control. He had to cover his weakness with reason, or all their intimidation would have been for nothing. Quickly, he followed up.

“One step closer and we'll interpret that as an attack!”

When Stolt finally, mercifully, thankfully stopped coming toward him, Squirtle caught a faint sigh from Quil. His friend's belly sank an inch lower to the ground as his four legs lost some of their rigidity.

“Very well, Team Equalize,” said Stolt with an apparently fearless voice that could easily be heard by all. His tail swayed behind him. “You've caused quite a distraction to the good residents of Karprest. We all have projects to attend to, and we would hate to see them fall behind our schedule. Tell me why you have come.”

Squirtle nodded to Quil, but he'd already begun his address. As he spoke, Squirtle recognized echoes of the words said in Blindhollow. “Stolt, we've come because what you're doing here in Karprest is wrong. The Pokémon of Karprest collectively chose Mayor Biba to make the big decisions, and you unfairly stole that position. That's not even why we're here though. You've forced 'mon to leave their homes in Karprest because they don't agree with you being in charge, and worse, the 'mon that are still here have to be cooperative and pretend they're happy, or they'll have to leave too!”

Quil stood on his hind legs, sending his voice farther. “Pokémon shouldn't have to live in fear that a Zapper or his followers will knock them out and deny them their homes if they raise any objections. Pokémon shouldn't have to pretend everything's fine when a Zapper is ruining something they love. They shouldn't be forced to do things they don't want to do just because a Zapper says they have to!”

“If you have any respect for the 'mon around you, the 'mon who share this beautiful town with you, you'll leave Karprest right now and never come back. Karprest never wanted you to bully them and twist Karprest to your own personal liking! So go!” He pointed at a path out of the clearing with a forepaw.

No, thought Squirtle with dismay as Quil finished. No, this approach will never work. I'm sure every Electric-type is feeling proud after the boost, but Stolt takes it to an extreme. He would never let humiliation or authority get the best of him. He's not going to budge.

Stolt wore a thoughtful frown. One by one, the Pokémon watching the proceedings switched their gazes from Quil to Stolt. Many seconds passed in silence before the Luxio replied. When he did, his voice was quieter, though certainly still loud enough for all to hear.

“I see. You five believe that I am a villain. A villain who has stolen away Karprest's freedom and devastated the town in the process. I've mired Karprest in ruin and sadness, right? You probably think I have them writing songs about me and carving a statue in my likeness, don't you?”

Stolt's head rolled back and his eyelids squeezed shut as he laughed. Squirtle's eyes were drawn to the Luxio's white fangs before he snapped his head away to follow a sound in the crowd. It had sounded like laughter, but why would any Pokémon of Karprest find humor in Stolt's joke? Yet he could see the laughter was coming from none other than Brao, the energetic Growlithe who served as brazier-lighter at nightfall. Her laughter appeared to be good-natured and honest. Among other Pokémon, too, Squirtle could see and hear warm smiles and chuckles of amusement. Had they grown to become such skilled actors that they could fake a companionable laugh to avoid suspicion, or were they truly laughing along with Stolt?

“You've come here under the illusion that Karprest needs saviors, that I am selfish, feared, and hated. You are mistaken, I'm afraid.” His tail-tip rose and jabbed at Squirtle and Quil. “You two were interlopers that day, and you are interlopers now. You don't understand what's happening here. It is you who need to leave now, should you have any respect for the 'mon of Karprest!”

Quil drew himself up once again, but this time he didn't stand as tall. “I don't see what's so funny about what you're doing here. You've said Karprest doesn't need saving, but Team Equalize isn't going to walk away from the 'mon of Karprest when they need help. Listen, everyone! Now's the time to stop pretending, and to join us! If you want Stolt and his followers gone, then tell us--”

“No!” Squirtle hissed as he stepped in front of Quil to cut off his words. Despite the height differential, Quil instantly complied, though not without looking at Squirtle with surprise and alarm.

“No,” Squirtle repeated for Quil's ears alone. “If you ask them to show their true colors, we aren't going to be happy with the response. Don't ask me why. They...they won't join us.”

Stolt, Loria, Peroo, Bein, and everyone else were watching their private exchange with curiosity. The pair had to say something, anything. What could Squirtle say though? He really didn't understand the situation. This wasn't what Karprest was supposed to be like. This wasn't what he expected. His plans were moot, his resolve undermined. He needed time to observe and think.

Squirtle turned to face Stolt. “Like Quil said, Team Equalize isn't leaving.” What he didn't say was why. Confidence and bravado was what he needed to project, not an admission that he needed time to reevaluate the situation.

“You're not?” Stolt asked with false sincerity. He stalked forward. “That leaves us with fewer options then, does it not? What shall we do?”

“No,” Quil breathed as he stepped back. Squirtle was not far behind. His shell bumped into something solid behind him, and Squirtle spun to face the threat. Bein stood with his bone at the ready, attention fixed on Stolt.

“I'll absorb all of his electricity if I can,” he muttered. “Get ready.”

Team Equalize drew together and faced Stolt. Squirtle could feel the readiness of Loria and Peroo, and found himself wishing he could share their innocent and naive outlook of the problem at hand.

Then Stolt stopped. His face lowered while he smiled. When he looked up again, the longing was gone from his eyes though the coldness remained.

“Come. Let me prove my words are true. I'll show you the new Karprest. It's glorious, wonderful, and it's only just beginning! Won't you come with me, Team Equalize?”

Squirtle could have heard the smug smile in his words with his eyes closed. Stolt was offering exactly what he wanted: time to think, and more information about the state of Karprest. He'd be a fool to refuse, even if they were being led into some trap or deception. He turned to look at the faces of his companions. Peroo and Loria were nonplussed, Bein unreadable, and Quil relieved. Good enough for him.

“Yes. We'll come.”

Stolt led the way out of the clearing as he called for Pokémon to make way and get back to work. Squirtle followed at a cautious distance and kept near his team. Nearly all Pokémon dispersed, but some fell into the tour group along with Team Equalize. The Nidorino was among them, as were a similarly familiar Nuzleaf and Elekid with expressions of restrained aggression. Squirtle concluded that these Pokémon were part of Stolt's retinue. He might have complained about becoming outnumbered and flanked by Pokémon loyal to Stolt if there were any chance that Stolt would make Team Equalize feel more comfortable in response. There was no choice but to accept what was happening until his team made their move. Whatever that might be.

Stolt led them through organic streets and pathways toward western Karprest, the side closest to Root Forest. Here and there was a sight that Squirtle recognized thanks to the tour that Bein had offered him and Quil on their first arrival at Karprest. Wherever there had previously been room for a new building, construction was now underway. Pokémon were working on foundations, walls, framework, roofs, finishing touches – every stage of construction. Some waved or greeted the tour as it passed.

Squirtle glanced at Bein for his professional reaction to the work being done. The Cubone was shaking his head. Stolt noticed, too.

“Bein, I must say it's good to see you. We could use your expert direction for all this construction we're doing.”

“You could,” Bein grunted in agreement. “It's all wrong. Your superintendent is inexperienced.”

“Join us. Help make Karprest greater.”

“Don't listen to him,” said Squirtle. “We don't know what's really going on here yet.”

Bein decided not to reply, and Stolt let the matter drop. As they reached the previous edge of Karprest, Squirtle could see that there was even more construction occurring at the edge of the town. More than likely, the western edge wasn't the only area seeing expansion.

“Karprest,” Stolt began, “is undergoing renovation, expansion, beautification, and every other sort of improvement you might think of. As I said before, this is only the beginning. The new buildings you have seen will primarily serve as housing. The population of Karprest will soon be dramatically increasing, so we will be prepared.”

“Why's that?” asked Quil while he looked about the busy construction sites.

“Karprest shall become a hub of activity. A prime location to live, a town above all others. You'll soon see some of the other projects we have underway, and you'll begin to understand why Karprest will be great. These will drive population growth and result in Karprest flourishing as it well should. We want new housing so Karprest doesn't become messy and loud from being too crowded.”

His face took on a pensive cast. “There will of course be a screening process for foreigners coming into Karprest. I haven't worried about the details yet. We won't allow just any 'mon walking along the Karp or coming in by boat to establish their lives here. We don't want any interlopers living here unless they can contribute.”

“You mean you don't want any interlopers,” Squirtle corrected.

Stolt sighed tragically. “Squirtle, Squirtle. Most Pokémon don't know what they want, and that principle holds true in Karprest. That's why leaders exist – to show them what they want. When I say 'we', I truly mean 'we'. The others just don't know it yet.” His lips stretched into a thin smile. “You seem to be in a leadership role yourself, Squirtle. Don't you agree with me?”

Squirtle broke eye contact. The Luxio was perfectly correct. The struggle he faced with getting his team members to contribute to discussions was fresh in his mind. He remembered the blank stares, the frowns of puzzlement. If Squirtle had not pushed his boost-fighting movement into being, it would never have been started. The Pokémon around him had wanted to resist. They just hadn't known it yet.

He couldn't look at Quil or the others behind him and meet their eyes, either. They were the ones who didn't know what they wanted, the ones who needed to be led. Squirtle couldn't face them with that naked truth hanging in the air.

“Let's move on,” Stolt suggested. Satisfaction dripped from his voice. “I want you all to see the larger buildings in progress.”

Squirtle followed Stolt with his mind in turmoil. Was he any better than Stolt, the proud dictator who'd shocked him and Quil to unconsciousness merely as an experiment? How could he lead a team to take down Stolt when he himself forced others unto his bidding? He'd never really, thoroughly assessed the desires of his team members. Maybe deep down, they weren't as sure about 'saving' places like Blindhollow and Karprest as he was. In fact, Squirtle was sure they weren't. To some degree, he must have bullied them into joining, into obeying the plans he'd laid out for them. Squirtle had no right. He'd never threatened them with violence, and never would, but perhaps his conviction and quick intellect were equally threatening.

“This is the arena,” said Stolt. Even unfinished, Squirtle was impressed at the size.

“Circular, so that any competitors will start with equal advantage. No longer will 'mon have to walk half a mile out of Karprest for an unrestrained battle. The potent moves from very practiced 'mon will be unable to damage our heavily reinforced arena walls. Even Hyper Beam, or my Spark technique won't ruin them. I can't say I'm absolutely sure about that last one though.” A smug smile.

“We can do other competitions there, too,” said the Nidorino from the tour group's left. “Like Quickball and Sky Wrestling. Or our weight-pushing contests.”

“Yes,” agreed Stolt. “The arena will be highly entertaining. A famous attraction of the new Karprest. Onto the next stop.”

Next, the tour was shown to Swanna's lodge. The building was being lengthened while maintaining its unique architecture, all under Swanna's supervision. Squirtle and his team were shown up close the new boats being built from equally new docks and scaffolding. A small, primitive shipyard. Stolt bragged about the Sandshrew boat-builder he'd had 'brought in', and the planned expansion of the ferry service.

“My family has lived here for generations, and I myself have lived here for a long time. Karprest used to be a simple village. Idyllic, you might have called it. A fine place to live, but nothing significant happening, nothing remarkable. And small. Karprest has seen some development in my lifetime, but it needed more, it always needed more. Now, with my leadership, we're finally seeing it.”

“Biba was chosen to lead,” said Quil as they looked out at the predominantly Water-type Pokémon working on the docks and in the water. “The 'mon of Karprest wanted her, not you. How can you say 'we' when it's obvious that it's only your desire?”

Stolt's brow creased momentarily, and Squirtle thought he could hear a growl in the Luxio's throat for a moment. “Biba. She was only elected because she possesses a certain charm. She's straightforward and honest, a stern mother for the 'mon of Karprest. Under her, what needed to be done, got done. But no real progress was made. What I'm doing today is what my father would have wanted, and his father before him.”

He swept the water and then the buildings of Karprest behind him with a blue forepaw. “Look at the results! You're still convinced that what I'm doing isn't good for Karprest, my home? You want to depose me because it was Biba that was chosen? Pokémon do not know what they want! They thought they wanted Biba, but look at what could have been accomplished so much earlier if they chose me!”

“At what cost?” Squirtle questioned. “Are the Pokémon here truly happy? Do they enjoy carrying out your radical plans for Karprest?”

“Oh, there were rebellions, I admit. Our local Electabuzz was particularly...troublesome. That one happened shortly after you two left so spectacularly.” His tail-tip jabbed at Squirtle and Quil again.

“You made me look like a newly-hatched Seedot again,” said the Nuzleaf under his breath from the other side of Quil. In other circumstances, Squirtle might have smiled at the triumph he remembered after besting the Elekid and Nuzleaf during their escape.

Stolt was still addressing Squirtle's questions. “After those little rebellions were squashed, and some time passed, the early results of my new policies and public works projects became self-evident. The 'mon of Karprest began to see the improvement, the benevolence behind my enforcement. Now, there are very few who haven't surrendered their foolish belief that my leadership isn't the greatest thing to happen to Karprest in years.”

Again, a few Pokémon of the tour or in the shallows of the Karp river snickered or smiled at Stolt's words. And again, it all seemed like genuine good humor at Stolt's ego. They liked Stolt. Why then were there so many complaints posted on the board in Cavetown?

Most of those are the Pokémon who fled before or during the rebellions, like Quil and I, said a little voice in Squirtle's head. They don't know any better. They never saw what Stolt has done for Karprest. All they saw was a Pokémon intoxicated by power knock out a poor little Cyndaquil and Squirtle, then usurp power and put everyone to work. Even if a few remain who disapprove of Stolt, there are probably far more who support him.

“Does that answer your questions, my Squirtle?”

“Yes,” he forced out.

“Then on with the grand tour!” The fifteen odd Pokémon of the tour walked in Stolt's wake as the Luxio made for the deeper parts of Karprest. Squirtle noticed Quil's strides slowly bringing him closer to Squirtle.

“What do we do when the tour's over?” asked Quil under all the noise of movement.

“I don't know. I really don't know. Let's...let's regroup in private after the tour and discuss our next move, if Stolt lets us. If he doesn't, we fight our way out. Can you get the others on the same page while I keep thinking?”

“You mean tell them the plan? Alright,” said Quil without a hint of doubt from Squirtle's response. He veered away, subtly falling further back into the crowd to whisper into the ears of Bein, Peroo, and Loria one at a time. To the best of his perception, the other Pokémon of the tour didn't notice Team Equalize's covert strategizing. Or, some noticed but chose not to act on their observations. Like they didn't care. That attitude indicated great trust in Stolt to keep them safe and the situation in hand, trust that Squirtle wasn't sure anyone could have for a Pokémon like Stolt. What was really going on?

The tour next came upon a partially-completed stage for performances. Stolt mentioned an Azumarill who could tell an enthralling story, and called for Loria to grace Karprest with one of her songs once the stage was complete. The Riolu stared at the stage for a long moment, before glancing at Squirtle and refusing to comment. Once they passed the stage, Stolt elaborated on the improvements to Karprest beyond the construction. Squirtle, against his will, found one of Stolt's policies especially commendable and forward-thinking. 

“Pokémon of Karprest will be required to serve rotations on an emergency force that will respond to outside threats. Ones such as hostile Zappers or natural disasters like that incredible storm. Training and drills for our first batch are well underway, and all in Karprest are well-assured that their leader will be responding to every incident as well no matter the threat or the time of day.”

“Mm, that's a right marvelous idea, isn't it?” Peroo chirped.

Stolt nodded. “All is done for the good of Karprest.” After turning around the corner of a backyard garden, the central clearing came into sight. The time for a big decision was about to arrive.

We can't attack Stolt. Not only because it may no longer be the right thing to do, but also because we'd be overwhelmed by the strength of Karprest's Pokémon. They appear to support him for whatever reason. We'd be starting a fight we're destined to lose.

Squirtle's fingers rolled into fists. We can't do nothing! Something's not quite right here; there must be something amiss that I'm not seeing. Karprest looks to be prospering under Stolt. Everyone appears to be doing well and everything appears to be going great, even if Stolt's methods are questionable. So he must be keeping something from us. There's something he's swept under the rug. Karprest can't honestly be thriving when Stolt is in charge.

The moment of Stolt's sudden Electric attack on Squirtle flashed in his mind. No. Not Stolt. He's hiding something.

“The tour is at its end!” Stolt proclaimed as they stopped where they'd first started, in front of the steps up to the porch of the mayor's house. “I am delighted Team Equalize decided to stop by, actually. Being able to show off Karprest's progress has only excited me further! Can't you feel it too? Or do you still think Karprest needs saving?”

His eyes moved and his expressive tail made some gesture lost on Squirtle. Every Pokémon not part of Team Equalize fell away to regroup at Stolt's side. Team Equalize stood alone. All eyes turned to Squirtle.

Squirtle had something to say, certainly. However the tour and Stolt's words had given him a new outlook. He had something to say, but did he need to say it? His opinion really shouldn't be prized above anyone else's. Was his leadership needed, or even truly wanted?

He walked a few paces to the side and held his hand out with his tiny palm facing up. A gesture for his teammates to speak instead of him.

Quil's eyes shone with concern at the motion. “Squirtle?” he asked softly, to which Squirtle only shook his head and held his hand out farther.

Peroo, Loria, and Bein held their peace. Quil spoke on all of their behalves with obvious reluctance. “We appreciate the tour. Right now, I think we...would like to speak to some of the 'mon we saw. Erm, alone, of course. We'd like to hear what they say about Karprest and about you, Stolt.”

Good call, thought Squirtle, impressed.

“Absolutely not,” said Stolt.

“What?” Quil and Peroo spurted together. Any semblance of nonchalance left Stolt's expression and bearing. Now his face was like stone.

“Do you think this is a negotiation? I was magnanimous enough to show you Karprest and reveal to you the errors in your assumptions and beliefs. I've spent enough of my time trying to change you. If you've stubbornly resisted that change, like fools, then you're leaving now. You won't be distracting the good residents of Karprest any further, especially not to inspire more rebellious thoughts.”

“Should we fight?” Quil whispered to Squirtle. “Like in your plan?”

Squirtle hesitated, then relented. “No,” he whispered back with a slight shake of his head. “If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that battling would be a mistake. Beyond that, your guess is as good as mine. Better, even. Your head thinks, but your gut knows, right?” He gave Quil a bitter smile that his friend didn't deserve, before leaning away and watching Stolt carefully for any sign of electricity.

Squirtle could hear Quil whispering to the other members of Team Equalize. Stolt and his band did nothing to prevent the conference. Squirtle stared into the Luxio's eyes, who returned the gaze impassively.

I'm not like you. I'm not. I can't be.

Whatever his team decided, Squirtle was prepared to follow their lead. His head was not in the right place to make any sort of decision regarding the fate of Karprest. For the first time in a long while, he unquestionably let the others around him decide his course of action. Squirtle would stand down and let the desires in the hearts of his teammates come forth instead of imposing his own suggestions. By surrendering his free will, he dearly hoped that it would help to prove that Stolt was wrong. That Squirtle's leadership did not exist to dominate the ones he led. If Squirtle had ever inadvertently been a bully, this once he refused to behave like one.

Peroo made a noise of protest and disbelief. Squirtle heard Quil murmur, “No other options, are there?” Bein grunted in a tone of agreement. Quil pulled away from the rest of Team Equalize, and glanced at Squirtle. He refused to return the look. He would not offer any opinion or influence. Quil stood on his hind legs once more and raised his voice to Stolt.

“Team Equalize would like to leave Karprest.”

“Good, good,” said Stolt. His stony demeanor fractured, and he was once again suave and genial. “I saw you fly in on that Salamence from the northeast, so you must have come from the other side of the Karp. Correct?”

Quil nodded slowly, tentatively. Squirtle could see where his train of thought had taken him, and it was somewhere wet and terrifying.

“Unfortunately for you,” Stolt continued, “Karprest's ferry crew never returned since that day. Perhaps you can contact them for their service? You'd know where they are better than I.”

“No!” shouted Squirtle as Stolt turned tail. Quil would lose his mind if he were forced to cross the Karp river again on Squirtle's back, especially as the larger Quilava. Bein and Loria probably weren't strong swimmers either, though Peroo would be fine. If Stolt didn't give them a way across, then they simply weren't going back to Cavetown.

Thinking quickly, he shouted at Stolt as he padded up the steps. “That's not fair! It's your fault that the ferry is gone Stolt. You caused all of the initial chaos here, and that's what chased off the ferry crew. You're responsible for us getting back across that river!”

Stolt turned and leaped back down the steps with a loud growl. “I owe you nothing, interlopers! Get out of my town before I make you.”

Quil shrank back. Squirtle focused on the image of Quil as a Cyndaquil huddled and shivering on the Karprest ferry, and drew strength enough from that to stand his ground against Stolt's frightening aggression. If Squirtle didn't make a compelling counter-argument, he doubted Stolt would hesitate to make good on his threat.

“Is this what you want Karprest to be, Stolt? A place where Pokémon can expect neither hospitality nor service? A town of hostility?”

Stolt chose a menacing growl in favor of further words. With nothing further to say, Squirtle allowed his fear to drive him back to the safety of his team. He made an effort to not show his emotions on his face, but doubted he was successful.

At long last, Stolt silenced himself. His chest heaved as he drew a great, steadying breath. When he spoke his voice was chillingly calm. “If I ever see any of you five here in Karprest again, I will shock you with such a high voltage that it will be days before you awaken. If you do at all.”

The Luxio muttered into one of the Nidorino's ears before he stalked back up the staircase without a backward glance. The Nidorino ambled up to Team Equalize and grumbled out four words.

“We know a Lapras.”


	30. Fear

Seeing Quil wrapped up so fearfully around one of the Lapras' knobby shell projections broke Squirtle's heart as much as seeing Karprest recede behind them. The town was unchanged. The arrival of Team Equalize had done nothing. Their journey had been fruitless. Pointless.

Bein's clear anxiety at riding the Lapras was vaguely surprising to Squirtle, but the Cubone had nothing on Quil. While Bein had his arms encircling one of the gray knobs with eyes fixed downward, Quil was actively trembling with his fires high. Squirtle half-heartedly comforted them with reassuring pats and words, but there was nothing he could really do to help. What else was new? And by their silence, neither were soothed by his concern. They wanted to be left alone to suffer in peace. Squirtle was hardly a reassuring presence, after leading them on this spectacular failure of a mission.

Peroo and Loria stood on opposite ends of the Lapras, flanking Bein and Quil in the center. Like twin sentinels, they gazed upriver and downriver respectively as the Lapras swam straight across the Karp. Neither moved. Were they regretting their decision to come, or appreciating the sparkling waters of the Karp? Squirtle was personally unable to admire any kind of beauty at the moment thanks to the melancholy that had followed him through their departure.

Even the Lapras would provide no conversation or lightness to the mood. She hadn't even spoken to them – only to the Nidorino. Either her personality was icier than a glacier, or she held some vendetta against Pokémon who didn't support Stolt and the new Karprest. Squirtle almost broke the silence with a remark about how different their shells were, but it sounded idiotic in his head. Forced. Silence was better anyway.

The trip across the river dragged thanks to the stillness of both sound and motion from everyone atop the Lapras. When at last the far bank approached, Quil sprung onto dry land the instant he was in range as he had from the ferry. Bein was not far behind.

“Thank you,” Squirtle mumbled. The Lapras opened her mouth, but then only nodded her large head and turned about to paddle herself back into the river proper.

For a minute, the members of Team Equalize stood around. No one would take the lead on the hike back to Cavetown. Squirtle was unwilling to ask whether they wanted to take the long way via the main path of Blind Prairie, or try to cut through the brush on a more direct route to the mountains. He was unwilling even to mention those two options. Today, he would not pretend to be the leader he wasn't. Someone else could choose where the team would go. That way Squirtle could be sure that was what they truly wanted, without any push from him.

“Cavetown's right there,” said Bein as he leveled the tip of his bone to point at one of the mountains in the distance. Now back on terra firma, he appeared right as rain. “Best to walk straight there. Five 'mon, no problems with wilders. Sound good?”

“Right,” said Peroo as he unfolded his wings. “Give a shout if you need this Tranquill, see you!”

With that, they were off. The grass was soon growing tall and thick all around, and Squirtle resigned himself to a day or two of frustrating monotony in the grasses of Blind Prairie. Pushing through the grasses was not physically laborious, but he'd definitely be mentally taxed by the endless grasses by the time they escaped to the base of the mountains. This method of getting to Cavetown should prove to be quicker than the paths that he, Bein, and Quil had taken a few days previously. He only wished that the team could deal with the wild Pokémon among the brush near the river, where he and Quil had failed.

As the day wore on, his worries proved groundless. Not only did their numbers grant them an absurd advantage over the Pokémon that usually only appeared alone, but Squirtle found that he and Quil had very noticeably improved since the battles against the Espeon, Scizor, and other Pokémon of those days. The change drew his mind back to Quil's early evolution, and Squirtle felt even worse with the thought of his unintentional influence on Quil's battling and development.

While seeing Peroo swoop into action with his swift motions and wind-based techniques was enjoyable to watch, Loria took the cake for the most fascinating battling style. Before engaging in the melee, she would always closely study her opponent's movements. Then, no matter how evasive or agile the wild Pokémon was, her hits would always land. It seemed to be a move in and of itself. She incorporated counters into her style, too. When a wild Sentret slammed her with its tail, she used the momentum imparted by the blow to swing her body around into a full-bodied punch to the Sentret in return.

By far the most interesting technique in her repertoire was what she said Fighters called Force Palm. When the Riolu was able to position herself next to her opponent, she would gently but firmly place her palm somewhere on its body. A shock wave of invisible force would then surge outward to swat the Pokémon away as surely as if they'd been walloped by a giant hammer. The low boom that accompanied the show of power was inexplicably satisfying to hear.

Strangely, Squirtle could hear her humming some unfamiliar melody whenever the flow of battle carried him near the Riolu. The first time, he figured her humming was a fluke, but she was consistent in every battle. Perhaps Loria had fallen into the habit of humming when first introduced to battles and had never stopped. Maybe the music she produced helped her concentrate. Battle and performance might be the only times Loria gave voice to the melodies singing in her head.

Squirtle continued to tune his control over his element. Different tactical situations called for either his Water Gun or Bubble technique, but sometimes a plain old Tackle worked best. Using his tail as a distraction worked best to grant his allies an easier time of landing a solid hit. When the enemy focused on attacking him, it always seemed prudent to withdraw into his shell and brace against the incoming blows. Quil's presence in battle had certainly taken a step up since his evolution. Squirtle could see improvement still happening too, even throughout the first day of travel alone. The smoke he produced once in a blue moon was thicker, the embers brighter, and the power behind his Tackle or Quick Attack heftier.

Despite the transitory excitements of battling, Squirtle saw the world through a pall of weary pessimism. His feelings about the Electric boost and its consequences were up in the air, and his role in all of it? Perhaps it was over. He hadn't done any good at Karprest, that was for sure. Quil approached him privately to ask about his gloomy attitude following their second battle of the day.

“What's wrong, Squirtle? Are you sad because we couldn't save Karprest?”

Squirtle didn't feel like talking. Hiking through endless grasses didn't offer up many other ways to pass the time, however. If he had to pick someone to talk to, it would have been Quil.

“Karprest didn't need saving.”

“Are you sure? Stolt was in charge. How could the 'mon be happy over there?”

Another day, Squirtle would have loved to work through a complete discussion of the matter with Quil. Today, it was easier to be succinct. “I'm not sure.”

Quil was waiting for more. Squirtle wouldn't give it. “This isn't like you. In Karprest you were quiet too. I'm supposed to be the quiet one.” He chuckled and Squirtle could feel a smile directed at him.

“Normally you call out strategies, one after another. Today it was like you'd been hit by one of those flashes of light that get you Confused. You know, the ones that Vulpix or Flaafy can do sometimes?”

Squirtle shook his head, wishing the 'conversation' were over.

“Urgh, never mind, I guess we've never fought either of those. So what happened? Something Stolt said? The team could have used your help when we were deciding what to do. I know I could have!”

“Could they though?” asked Squirtle in a weak voice. He felt tired, emotionally. He almost held the vigor of his Squirtle body in contempt, as it had no right to be so energetic when he was feeling this way. Quil said nothing, and Squirtle felt obligated to elaborate for his sake.

“What right do I have to lead, to choose what to say and do on behalf of our team? I let us come here. Big mistake. I'm leading a meaningless, wasted effort.”

“We all decided to come here, Squirtle, together. Viper was the one who picked Karprest anyway, remember? You and I were the most opposed to it. But as a team, we settled on Karprest.”

Squirtle swung his claws at the grass in his way, suddenly frustrated that Quil was only seeing the small picture. “They aren't motivated like we were; they don't really want to help. They don't know what they want! Loria is from Karprest, and she still joined up with us. Yet she didn't seem keen on changing the state of the town once we arrived. I think Bein only came along because he feels guilty for not helping out the refugees beyond digging and building. Peroo's with us since he has nothing better to do. He only cares about the Pachirisu problem where he lives in the Mistyfern Whatever.”

“So this is about what Stolt said. About Pokémon not knowing what they want.”

“Besides,” said Squirtle with his voice quiet again, “I shouldn't be calling the shots. Even now, I still don't know if Karprest needed some kind of intervention by us or not. I'm incapable of making important decisions.”

“None of us did any better. You can't feel bad about today, Karprest wasn't what any of us expected.”

“Give it up, Quil.”

“I won't give up when you're feeling awful,” Quil said, his tone low but spirited. His eyes had been roving the grasses for the wild Pokémon that could pop out at any moment, but now he was watching Squirtle with concern. “You've always done your best to make me feel better. You deserve the same. Now, I keep explaining that you aren't the only one responsible for what happened today. All of us are to blame, if any of us can be blamed at all. I think the points I've given are logical. They're logical, right?”

Squirtle couldn't bring himself to smile. Quil shouldn't be so focused on cheering him up. Hopeless.

“There must be something more that's bothering you. Please, tell me. You know I won't laugh or walk away.”

He looked inside himself, past the veil of depression and self-hatred, but he couldn't find any other reason for him to be feeling this way. Yet, somehow, he trusted Quil. He trusted that Quil was right when he said there was something else bothering him. What was it? The failure at Karprest and his status as an unwanted, unnecessary leader should be reason enough.

“We all wanted to come to Karprest,” Quil continued, reinforcing his points. “We all wanted to help. We're all happy to hear your plans, because they work. Today you planned for circumstances that ended up not existing, but this is only your first major plan that didn't work out perfectly. And no one faults you for that!”

“I don't think we should keep doing this, Quil,” Squirtle said slowly. His heartbeat quickened. What was he saying? Had he just said those words? And why did they feel so correct? He did have something more that was bothering him. Something big.

“What?” said Quil. He stopped in place. Squirtle stopped as well a couple of steps ahead. He could almost feel the air between them grow cold and heavy. Distancing them. The blades of grass separating them were a barrier that blocked Squirtle from seeing Quil's face in full. Only some pieces between the blades.

“What if the next place we visit is like Karprest? What if they don't need to be saved either? What if we intervene and make things worse?”

Quil was frozen. His ears were up and forward, his eyes glued to Squirtle's.

“How would we feel then, Quil? How would we live with ourselves? So I don't think I can make the calls for this team if we run into another situation that's not black and white. I can't sign us up for a job that might result in another disaster like this one.”

“That won't happen,” said Quil in a hollow voice. “It's unlikely.”

Squirtle shook his head and began moving again before the rest of Team Equalize could fully catch up. Quil followed. “Think back to when we chose Karprest on the request board. We were so sure that Stolt was a problem. We had not only Loria who lives in Karprest, but also me, you, and Bein who had recently been there. None of us doubted that removing Stolt from leadership one way or another was what we had to do.” He spat out a laugh that was two parts regret and one part anger. “How wrong we were.”

“So I can't see myself doing this anymore. For that reason, and the ones we already talked about. And...deep down, I think I see now what's really upsetting me most.”

In his mind, he could see himself walking his life's path. As a Squirtle or a human, it made no difference. Always he'd been moving forward toward a goal. Even on his first night as a Pokémon, fragile and confused from his loss of memories, he'd still pieced together a two-step plan for how to proceed. Now, the path he'd been walking had reached its end. There were no signposts indicating where he'd made a wrong turn. No helpful Pokémon to offer directions. The path had ended at the top of a cliff with no way to progress. A dead end. Squirtle squeezed his eyes shut.

“I thought this was what I was supposed to be doing. If I'm not doing my best to help fight the problems caused by the Electric boost, then what do I do? I wanted to help, but it's not that simple anymore. I can't do this. Now I have no goal. No purpose. I'm just a Squirtle again. An insignificant, accidental Squirtle.”

* * *

The sun set when the team had made it to the base of the mountains of Heartless Heights. The short-cut straight through Blind Prairie had saved them a respectable chunk of time. Up above, the foreboding trees of Weird Wood still needed to be crossed. A different segment than Quil, Squirtle, and Bein had crossed previously. Squirtle was too drained to feel anxious about the forest.

Quil had had no real comeback to Squirtle's words. His friend was despondent after the feeble attempts he made to convince Squirtle to remain on the team. Squirtle was sorry about the conclusions he'd come to, but Quil had wanted him to open up. He'd opened up, alright. The feelings he had could not be changed or avoided. Sharing them with Quil had to happen sooner or later. What would happen at Cavetown as a result of his decision remained to be seen.

After a cozy, warm night in one of Bein's holes in the ground, the team pressed onward and upward. Initially, the going was challenging, as they needed to forge a route up an increasingly steep and rough hillside. Then mountainside. Fortunately, their route took them near a small path which Peroo spotted from the air. Crossing to that established path made hiking up to Weird Wood appreciably easier.

Somewhere along the way, Squirtle decided it would be better for the longevity of the Special Band and Defense Scarf if they were folded away in Bein's backpack. Every fabric accumulated wear and tear, mundane or otherwise. Future team members might need them for critical battles. The team certainly wouldn't need their help to overwhelm the wild Pokémon along the way today. Bein had no complaint as Squirtle untied the knots and stowed them away.

Loria confessed her own regret to the team that Karprest had turned out to be a place of productivity and joy. No one verbally faulted her. Nor, true to Quil's words, did they express any regret that Squirtle had led the team to Karprest. The topic of future plans for the team remained unmentioned. Squirtle preferred it that way, and he imagined Quil did too. Their return journey to Cavetown was largely a silent one. No one was inclined to start a conversation following their insignificant presence at Karprest.

Like the other path into Weird Wood that Squirtle, Quil, and Bein had walked, their path straightened out once it passed the treeline. It curved only when necessary to avoid the trunks. The heavy atmosphere of the forest exacerbated the team's silence, transforming it into a physical pressure against Squirtle's skull. Vivid colors like the magenta markings above Peroo's eyes and the cheery aqua of Squirtle's skin were muted by the limited sunlight filtering down through the branches. He was unsettled by the change. Yet the last time they crossed the Wood, the only incidents were of his own mind's making. Armed with that knowledge, he was more comfortable among the towering pine trees and the foreboding environment they sponsored.

The creeping anxiety of the forest could not be entirely banished by his logic, however. Every minute under the dark canopy, every step with hidden eyes tracking him, he wished his mind were engrossed in some concrete matter. The alternative was the dark forest whittling away his sanity. He noticed his hands would curl into fists under the stress if he didn't stop them. He cast his mind back to find a lifeline. A question filed away for later, a conundrum begging a solution. Thinking any more about the Electric boost or his role in it was not going to happen, so he settled on tackling a problem that should have been solved long ago. Squirtle increased his pace on the shady path until he could tap Quil on the side.

“Remember when we talked about working on your fear of water? Now's a great time with nothing else to do. Do you want to?”

The timing was actually rather awful, but Squirtle wouldn't admit that when he was about to help Quil feel optimistic and motivated. Squirtle was in a reclusive and morose mood. Quil was likely still absorbing their heavy previous conversation. And the woods were already scary enough without adding Quil's fear of water to the mix. Nevertheless, walking the forest wrapped in their silent, private thoughts was still a worse option.

Quil's voice was almost toneless. “What do I do?”

“I'm not a psychiatrist, but--”

“Not a what?”

Squirtle glanced over the back of his shell. Peroo glided between low-hanging branches, and Loria and Bein walked side-by-side close behind Squirtle. Unsurprisingly, they'd all ended up moving in a more packed formation once they'd entered the forest. The other team members didn't appear especially focused on their conversation, but eavesdropping was inevitable in a silent forest. Squirtle had little desire for them to find out he wasn't a true Pokémon like them.

“I mean, I'm not an expert in helping Pokémon with their fears. I know a method which should be able to help though. We can utilize it as we walk. By the time we get back to Cavetown, maybe water won't be such an obstacle for you anymore. If you want to stop at any time, no problem. I won't push you. We can go at your pace. How does that sound?”

Quil spoke with a reluctance that Squirtle had fully expected. “I'm a Flame. I can't imagine this working. I'm meant to hate water.”

“You'll try though?”

Quil sighed and nodded, and for a time, the oppressive atmosphere of Weird Wood was forgotten.

First, Squirtle had his friend create a ranked list of fearful water-related experiences. The top of the list, the scariest ordeal that Quil could imagine, was falling into a large, dark body of water filled with wild Water-type Pokémon. The bottom of the list was observing a small amount of water from a safe distance. So that was where Squirtle began.

He pulled from his Pool and sprayed a humble stream of water off the side of the path and into the trunk of one of the million trees. Quil was not bothered at all by the water. Next, Squirtle jogged ahead and sprayed water at the ground until a little puddle of muddy water had formed. He requested that Quil step over the puddle. Again, there was no evidence of any fear, let alone anxiety as Quil followed the instruction.

When Squirtle made a puddle large enough as to require a leap, Quil finally hesitated. Quil stopped short of the puddle and eyed the dark water with distrust. Squirtle had to admit that even a harmless puddle of water could look sinister in the right lighting and mood. The spooky forest was doing them no favors.

“Good, this is good Quil! This is where we make progress. What I'm going to say may sound silly, but we have nothing to lose.” He paused to choose his next words with care, as he imagined a psychiatrist from his previous life might. “Try to calm yourself. Imagine you're curled up at home in Steady Steppe without a care in the world. No water, no other Pokémon around but your family. Close your eyes if that helps. Oh, and relax your muscles, you're tensed up. The goal here is to find peace.”

Quil did not seem to agree that the words were silly as he followed Squirtle's instructions to a tee. A minute passed before Quil's eyes slowly opened. This time, the fear was gone as he eyed the puddle. The rest of Team Equalize waited on the other side for Quil to complete the task. They followed the proceedings with interest and, fortunately, patience.

Quil leaped over the puddle and grinned at his small success. Squirtle was equally pleased. He hastened to produce another small puddle ahead for Quil to conquer, which he did with greater alacrity the second time. By the fifth puddle, Quil barely slowed before jumping over the obstacle. Accordingly, Squirtle's next puddle was larger. Quil refused to make the running leap that this new puddle would require, so Squirtle had him fully relax in the face of the new challenge. With some supportive words from Loria and Peroo, and a final verbal push from Squirtle, Quil made the jump and easily cleared the far side of the puddle. He responded to the cheers with another grin.

The hours blew by as Squirtle devoted himself to helping Quil triumph. His role required an unexpected degree of creativity for such a systematic process. Certain details of each trial that Quil had to face inspired anxiety, while others did not. It was Squirtle's job to pinpoint what exactly about water needed to be challenged and overcome by Quil's psyche. Was it the volume of water? The movement? Where it was? How likely it would be to touch Quil? Squirtle wrestled with the particulars of Quil's fear and countered them with fitting trials. The Quilava called for breaks following intense moments, but Squirtle and the others pushed him to keep it up. Quil complied with body language torn between dread and determination.

In the end, Squirtle observed that Quil grew most fearful when falling into a large body of water was possible, much like Quil had said initially. The puddles Squirtle was making could not be too large however, as the water was lost due to overflow, soil absorption, and inconsistent shape. The puddles could never be deep enough to pose a real threat of submersion, either. He needed a container.

“Bein, could you run ahead with me? I'd like your help for the next obstacle.”

Bein grunted and broke into a jog. Bein, Loria, and Peroo clearly enjoyed viewing Quil's improvement. Peroo especially loved the excitement of the ordeals as he chatted animatedly with Loria and Bein. The fact that they were often one-sided conversations did not seem to bother him. However, the last thing Squirtle wanted to do was slow the group down by his personal desire to help Quil. Slowing down meant more time in the dark forest. He had to walk the fine line between challenging Quil with his water, and keeping up their steady pace through the wood. Jogging ahead to set up the next barrier solved that problem.

“Can you dig a trench along the side of the path, right here? About three feet wide, five feet long, and say, four feet deep?”

Bein's digging technique was as astonishingly swift and methodical as always as he tunneled into the dirt.

“And please pack the sides to make it more watertight. If you want to, I mean. Only if you want to,” Squirtle added.

Bein stopped his digging to return a strange look over his shoulder. Squirtle looked away.

“I do,” said Bein, and finished the trench. Squirtle filled it with water and held back a satisfied smile to maintain his Water Gun. The water was barely draining into the dirt. The pool would more than suffice. As he finished, Quil tentatively approached the thin edge on his side of the pool.

“You know what to do,” said Squirtle with the tone of a teacher confident in his student's new proficiency. He stepped back to give Quil space.

Eventually, Quil succeeded in running and jumping over the pool with only a choked squeak. Squirtle gave him a few minutes' respite before requesting Bein's help on the next pool. Each time, the shape and size was different to allow Quil to succeed at anything he was presented with in the future. A trend quickly became obvious at the pools: the farther Quil had to jump, the more difficult it was for him to give it a shot. Thus, Squirtle elected to finish off the pool training with a final, narrow strip longer than any before.

“Make it long as a shadow before the sunset,” Loria called as Squirtle and Bein trotted far forward along the path to prepare the challenge.

Filling this last pool took the longest time yet due to its impressive length. Squirtle knew from experience that Quil could certainly jump farther than would be required. Still, Squirtle could see why looking down its range from one end would be intimidating even to a Pokémon like Quil who was well aware of his body's limits.

Squirtle stood with Bein, idling by the edge and contemplating how they'd keep up the training regimen once Quil had conquered the final pool. He had a passing feeling that he was normally interrupted from his thoughts by now due to the arrival of Quil, Loria, and Peroo. No matter. They'd jogged too far ahead for once and given themselves too much lead time. He glanced at Bein who was flipping his bone from hand to hand and visually scouting the plain path ahead. Any moment now, Quil would step up to the edge to mentally prepare himself for the challenge. Any moment.

Alright, what is taking so long? Squirtle looked away from the dark waters to the path from which they'd come. To the place where every other time, three familiar figures were arriving to rejoin him and Bein.

The path was deserted.

The forest changed. The darkness of the canopy swelled in importance, becoming a very real threat. Anything could be lurking amid the branches. The ever-present silence of Weird Wood suddenly became obvious to Squirtle's ears. How had he ever been able to ignore it? The innumerable pine trees were all waiting, watching how he would react to the disappearance of the others.

Squirtle stepped backward, away from the grisly sight of the empty path. Remembering Bein, he spun around to see the Cubone was still by his side. He noticed Squirtle's fright.

“What's wrong?”

“The others, they're gone! Quil, Loria, Peroo, gone, not on the path!” Squirtle babbled, pointing a shaking claw back where they'd come from.

Bein's eyes narrowed in his skull's eye sockets. “Let's go.”

Squirtle was not two steps behind. No way was Bein going to be any more than an arm's length away at any time. Just to be sure they wouldn't be separated, Squirtle grabbed ahold of the pack on Bein's back. Both of them craned their heads, looking left, right, and above. No figures came into view as they retraced their steps along the path. The three had vanished into thin air. No voices, no movement. Squirtle would have been grateful for even a scream, so long as he knew they were nearby.

Bein's pace slowed once he passed the place that all five of them had last been together. Now, there was no sign of anyone. Squirtle fell to all fours and inspected the dirt for any telling prints, but the path had never been moist enough for any of them to leave any mark as they walked. Peroo wouldn't have even left any prints. Bein seemed reluctant to backtrack even further, but Squirtle figured the others might have gone backwards for some reason. 

“Quil?” he called into the trees on either side. His voice trembled, but at the moment, he was willing to reveal how scared he was if he could just hear a response. “Peroo, Loria? If you're there, please say something!”

Bein shook his head with almost theatrical slowness as his eyes scanned the trees. He hardly appeared bothered by their missing companions. Typical Bein. Most crises couldn't throw him off balance. That was no problem though, since Squirtle wagered he was frightened enough for both of them.

“Nothing,” Bein finally murmured into the stillness. His voice was eerily calm. “We're alone.”


	31. Breakthrough

Squirtle and Bein were alone on the dim path through Weird Wood. Peroo was gone. Loria was gone. Quil was gone.

The idea of helping Quil through his fear of water seemed foolish in retrospect. A tiny Squirtle's delusion that ignoring the silent pines would render them impotent. Now it was all too obvious that the forest had only been biding its time. Squirtle was too late. The paranoia he'd been feeling inside had been correct. He should have trusted his Pokémon body to know when something was amiss. If only he could take it all back!

“What do you think we should do Bein?” he whispered, stepping even closer to the Cubone.

Bein eyed the wide trunks near the path. “Wait. They'll come back.”

“How do you--”

Bein side-stepped to fix his eyes on something behind Squirtle's head. A faint sound of wood creaking. Squirtle spun around.

Four feet above the forest floor, a red eye glided toward him. The eye shone with a fell light within its black socket. This was the eye from his nightmare. The same red eye that had swallowed Quil during their last passage through Weird Wood.

Squirtle found himself on his shell back, his chin tucked to keep his eyes on the approaching apparition. He must have tried to backpedal and tripped. That didn't matter though. Nothing mattered. It was coming. His life was over.

Above the eye were wickedly curving horns. Beneath it, a long body of pure darkness clad in bark-like armor. It drew itself toward the path on six gnarled legs, skittering in slow motion like a Spinarak composed of ancient, creaking wood. The monster had two arms ending with huge claws made for clutching a Pokémon and never letting go. A chilling moan came from its head. Its tone was a warning. Yet Squirtle couldn't have moved if he wanted to. He was helpless, more paralyzed than if he had an Electric-type's current coursing through his muscles. Ghosts were real, and they were horrible. This was the end.

A bone was shoved in front of his face. Bein said, “Trevenant. Never seen one. Any 'mon is fine though. Been too long since we had a battle.”

Trevenant? That was a Pokémon species. Squirtle recognized the word.

“That scared?” Bein was looking down at him. “Grab the bone or you'll be knocked around by the Trevenant.”

This was a battle? The ghost, though, the ghost was coming to eat their souls. No, it was a Trevenant. A Pokémon. The ghost was a Pokémon? That meant...

“R-right,” Squirtle stammered. Bein hauled him to his feet once he grabbed the proffered bone.

The Trevenant had arrived. It bent sharply at the breaks in its wooden armor and slammed its crest of leafy horns down at Squirtle. He summoned strength into his legs to dodge but the shakiness was still there. He couldn't leap out of the way as he normally might.

The horns pushed against Squirtle's shell and skin like a stamp. In that moment, the horns felt like they were pulling the moisture from his body. Like rootlets had dug into his flesh and into microscopic openings between his shell's scutes to draw out his latent water. He could feel the Trevenant leeching his strength. The sensation was unlike anything he'd yet experienced as a Pokémon or a human.

Pain. True, unadulterated pain. More physically painful than any attack he'd sustained in battle or otherwise. Squirtle screamed in surprise at the new sensation. The Nuzleaf's leaf projectile cutting past his tail during the Karprest escape had hurt, but that had been a glancing blow from a long distance. The two times he'd been jolted by electricity, he'd either been instantly knocked out or drained instantly of so much strength that weariness overrode the possibility of pain. This strike by the Trevenant was new and horrible.

The Trevenant's leafy horns rose away as the Pokémon straightened. A deeper side of Squirtle clawed its way to the surface in response to the pain.

Fight. Fight!

He crouched low then fired himself into the part of the Trevenant that would be the lower trunk, if it were an actual tree. The black core of the Trevenant swelled and lengthened where Squirtle was aiming. The pieces of wood on its exterior were drawn away to expose more of the blackness. Squirtle winced before the coming impact.

His flight was lasting a second too long. He opened his eyes fully in time to see a legitimate tree trunk rapidly approaching his face.

THUNK.

Squirtle fell, cracking a low branch of pine needles before striking the earth. Once he got to his feet, he could see Bein in close-quarters combat with the Trevenant on the path.

As quickly as his battling instincts had emerged, they now quieted while Squirtle wrapped his mind around what had happened. He certainly hadn't missed with his Tackle. The Trevenant was too big and too close for that. He must have gone through the Trevenant somehow. Right through its shadowy body. Was that even possible? If so, this Pokémon was almost as horrifying as he'd first thought. How could they defeat an enemy that could not be hit by their techniques? Not to mention the devastatingly painful and effective attacks it had at its disposal.

This really is a nightmare, he thought with despair. I have to help Bein, but I can't harm the Trevenant! And I don't want to take another hit like that. I'll be done for. What can I do? Think, Squirtle.

The Trevenant was no nightmare, it was real. It obeyed laws. Like every other Pokémon. It could unleash battling techniques. It would be weakened by them, in turn. It had a finite constitution. It had at least one Type. What was its Type? Grass, certainly, as it so closely resembles a tree. That would explain the pain and how weak he felt. The black core, though? The glowing red eye? The cold moan?

It's a Ghost-type! he realized. That's why my Tackle did nothing, as it relies on an ordinary physical impact to inflict harm.

Bein swung at the Trevenant with his bone. A seed lay atop his skull helmet, secured to his body by thin green shoots that seemed to pulse in tandem. Squirtle cast his mind back to the early days of his old life.

How would trainers fight against Ghost-types? That's right, they used elemental techniques only. Squirtle had to use his water! Even though it wouldn't work very well against the Trevenant's other Type, it was all he had.

Squirtle darted in close. The shot was an easy one with his opponent's back turned and attention elsewhere. When his Water Gun successfully struck and pushed the Trevenant off balance, Squirtle was relieved. He was beginning to feel like himself again. In control. Ready to optimize the situation.

“Don't use your head Bein!” he called, referring to the Cubone's tendency to headbutt his opponents using his skull helmet.

“I know,” Bein grunted. “Ghost.” His voice was uncharacteristically labored. The seed must have been doing a number on him. Squirtle wondered if he could pry it off Bein, but put the idea from his mind after a moment. He didn't want to come into contact with anything else that was typed as Grass.

The Trevenant turned and lurched forward on its six root-legs to strike Squirtle with the two in the fore. Simultaneously its body leaned forward to tower over Squirtle as it screamed at a chilling pitch. Squirtle skidded away. He could feel his body weakening further as it drew on his energy reserves to resist the damage. Once at rest, he dug in the claws of his hands and feet as anchors. He drew water into his throat in preparation to use his Bubble. The image of the red eye glaring down at him flashed in his mind. The scream echoed in his ears. When he tried to expel the water into bubbles, he flinched. He just couldn't do it. Then, like a shiver reaching the end of his spine, the feeling was gone. Gathering himself once more, he succeeded in unleashing a wash of bubbles at the Trevenant.

Bein landed another solid strike with his bone as the bubbles exploded against their opponent. Neither attack seemed to have much effect, however. Either the Trevenant was unusually tough, or there was still much more Squirtle had to learn before he could claim understanding of all of the Type interplay in a Pokémon battle.

The fight raged for half a minute longer. Bein was struck by the wooden horns like Squirtle had been. The seed finally peeled away, but the damage from both techniques had been done. Squirtle could see Bein struggling to keep up his end of the battle. Squirtle fired off two more of his Water Gun technique, and found himself on the receiving end of what appeared to be an ordinary Tackle from the Trevenant in turn.

At last, the Trevenant surrendered to their combined might. With both a vocal groan and a groan from its wooden components, it tipped over and collapsed along its trunk. Bein and Squirtle staggered toward the fallen Pokémon. By unspoken consent, they supported each other as they stepped in front of the Trevenant's glowing red eye. Bein bowed. Squirtle dipped his head. Then, haltingly, they made their way toward the place on the path where Team Equalize had last been all together.

They'd barely stepped away from the Trevenant when they were met with three familiar faces from further up the path. Squirtle's grimace of fatigue deepened into a frown as the new arrivals slowed to a stop. Peroo was there. Loria was there. And Quil was there. All three of them wore rueful expressions. Guilt was written all over them. Squirtle would have asked them to explain themselves, but the effort in his current exhausted state wasn't worth it. He knew they'd share soon enough.

“Squirtle,” said Peroo from his perch on a branch overhead. “I am sorrier than--”

“No, I must also bear the blame,” Loria interrupted while shaking her head. “Quil was distracted by the--”

“Don't say I didn't agree to it, Loria!” Quil said heatedly. “I know Squirtle best, and I let it go on long enough for this to happen!”

Bein spoke up tiredly, surprising Squirtle. “Didn't you hear...the Trevenant? Why...the delay?”

Peroo and Quil now looked even guiltier. Loria perked up with a quick smile.

“She thought she sensed a third 'mon,” Quil explained. “We only came after I heard Squirtle scream in pain.” His ears twisted backward and sagged as he looked pointedly at the ground.

“The original goal.” Peroo's tone was like a cautiously optimistic reminder. “Accomplished that, didn't we?”

No one rushed to answer. Squirtle sighed and finally forced himself to speak. “Someone please explain from the beginning.”

Four mouths opened. Squirtle anticipated what was about to happen and quickly amended himself. He jerked his limp arm toward Quil. “You.”

Quil took a deep breath and began. His voice started off tonelessly, highly controlled. By the end, Quil was as contrite as Squirtle had ever heard him.

“We all noticed how you were eying the trees and canopy, Squirtle. I realized at one point that you had probably only thought to start my water training to distract us all from our surroundings. Peroo suggested we help you overcome your fear of the forest. All four of us, Bein included, thought it was a good, kind idea. You know, since you were being so nice by helping me. A training for you in return.”

“We decided to hide behind the trees and be quiet the next time you went ahead. Bein knew about the plan, in case you got really scared. We were going to come back onto the path a minute after you walked past our hiding place. Then I heard you scream. A wild 'mon crossing near the path wasn't part of the plan.”

“Plan,” Loria said, drawing out the word sarcastically.

Quil cringed and sank lower. “It was a Planter, wasn't it? Must've hurt.”

“Grass beats Ground too,” Bein muttered. It seemed Bein was none too happy about their idea's outcome either.

Squirtle sighed and broke away from the Cubone to stand on the edge of the path, facing the sea of pine trees. He endured the tide of apologies to his back, and ignored the guilty conversation that continued behind him. Their idea had had a noble spirit. Helping someone out in return for the help they'd given was a pure, healthy sentiment. What they had only now realized, however, was that terrifying someone to cure them of fear could often be as harmful as helpful. While Squirtle did indeed feel that Weird Wood had lost some of its bite, he now had to carry the recollection of the terrors he experienced evermore. The disappearance had been staged. The horror had been real.

“I appreciate the essence of your idea,” he said to them all, turning back around. Some of his strength had returned. “Really, I do. I only wish you'd examined your method more closely. Did you ask yourselves why I was moving so slowly with Quil, instead of pushing him in a pool and being done with it?”

'No', came the silent reply. Words were not needed.

Squirtle looked into each of their faces. The way he was talking down to them was like a parent scolding his unruly children. As if he were above them. As if he knew best. A new feeling seeped into Squirtle's heart.

I'm done with that. I won't delude myself that I know any better. I know now that I can make mistakes far larger than this one.

“The mistake was an honest one though, wasn't it?” The edge on Squirtle's voice was gone. “Thanks for thinking of me, all of you. Peroo, Loria, Bein, Quil.”

The first three Pokémon mentioned relaxed. Quil grew more tense, saying, “That's all? You really aren't mad? Weren't you going to...shouldn't we talk more about why the idea was a bad one?”

Squirtle shook his head. He was amazed at how good he felt at letting the matter go. Truly, it was far easier to forgive and forget than fight to make sure everyone knew which way was the correct way. If such a way even existed.

“Let's forget about it Quil, I think it's better that way. Want to try that last pool? Bein's been on point with his earthwork; I bet the water's still high.”

“Perfect,” Quil said darkly. But he was smiling.

* * *

Quil, after getting back into the groove of calming himself in the face of water, successfully conquered the final pool. Cheers and congratulations were lumped upon him. Squirtle considered Quil a graduate of his improvised and compacted version of systematic desensitization therapy. Shame there was no river or pond nearby with which to recreate their narrow escape out of Karprest all those days ago. That would be a true test of Quil's ability to reign in his terror.

With that diversion concluded, the team pressed onward along the path with much less excitement. The path went onward, onward, and onward some more. Squirtle could recall how short by comparison his previous sojourns in Weird Wood had been. This portion of the wood must be the absolute thickest out of the entire swath of pines coating the faces of the mountain range. The heart of the forest.

At long last, the trees thinned. More light seeped through the canopy to brighten the path. The trunks grew narrower. Hints of a breeze whispered over Squirtle's cheek. He could see needles on the nearest tree wobble gently. The path relaxed into playful turns. Its flight straight out of the forest had ended.

“We might be able to do that river training after all,” said Quil dully.

Squirtle peered forward along the path and gasped in delight when he saw a sizable stream far ahead. The stream was angled across the path. They would have to swim across it. Perfect! Then he noticed the rickety wooden bridge. Not so lucky.

“There's a bridge,” he muttered.

Quil laughed with joy. “Yeah, there is!”

Beyond the stream lay a recognizable rocky and gray landscape. The stream appeared to be a border of sorts between Weird Wood and the region of Heartless Heights around Cavetown. Given the amount of time that the forest had eaten up, Cavetown no doubt lay within an hour or two. Squirtle glanced through the pine foliage at the sun's position. Unfortunately, it'd be dark in less than an hour. The group would be forced to rest sometime soon after crossing the stream, and finish the journey in the morning.

The wooden planks creaked as Squirtle first set foot on the bridge. If it had once featured railings or any ornamentation, time had long since worn them away. Though it was a few scant feet wide, the bridge only needed to cross a twenty or so foot stream. The danger of falling in and being swept away was miniscule thanks to the stream's shallow depth and calm flow.

Squirtle stopped on the bridge's apex to admire the view both upstream and downstream. Quil scampered past to reach the other side as soon as possible, but Loria stopped as well. Apparently she too appreciated the water's natural beauty.

“Where will you go now?” Squirtle asked as they watched the stream flow into the darkness of Weird Wood. “Karprest was your home.”

Loria hummed to herself thoughtfully. “I do not wish to be part of Karprest. Perhaps I will mimic the beauty of this stream. Meandering through the land until I find a new home.”

“Ah. I can see you doing that. It suits you, I think.”

The stream trickled by underneath the bridge. Smooth stones of brown and green paved the bottom. “A new place to belong will find me, one day,” Loria continued. “I will flow like this stream until then.”

“I'm going to get a closer look at said stream for a moment, before we move on,” Squirtle said, toeing the edge of the bridge. He sensed Loria grow tense, and she glanced upstream.

“You wouldn't be alone.”

Something was drifting downstream toward the bridge. Two orange feet and an orange-furred head poked out of the surface. Squirtle squinted to identify the Pokémon, but Peroo flapped to a high branch and called it out first.

“That's a Buizel, it is. Typical in a brisk little waterway like this one.”

Quil and Bein prepared themselves for a fight on the far side of the bridge while Squirtle and Loria watched the Pokémon float closer. Appearing to notice them, it drew its body upright in the water to get a better look. Squirtle was struck by the similarity of its body plan and coloration to Quil's. Swap orange for midnight blue and stretch its body out a bit more, and you'd nearly have a Quilava.

“Yes! Yes yes yes!” the Buizel was shouting as it floated closer. His voice was excited as could be. He leaned forward, accelerating toward the bridge. The water above his tails frothed and bubbled. Squirtle placed his hands on the bridge's edge and readied his Water Gun. The Buizel, however, slowed himself at speaking distance and flopped onto his back once more.

“Fight me. All five of you at once. Don't hold back.”

Peroo chirped in surprised laughter. Loria had no visible reaction. Quil, Bein, and Squirtle exchanged looks of puzzlement.

The Buizel threw up his paws.“It's not hard to understand! Battle me! Or are you scared of a single unevolved Buizel?” He laughed heartily at what was evidently a joke.

“He doesn't have the wild in his eyes,” said Quil quietly over the burbling stream. “He's not a Zapper. But he still wants to battle? Against five of us?”

“Might be having trouble falling asleep,” Bein said wryly.

Like an old friend stopping by to visit, Squirtle felt his curiosity come knocking. He raised his voice to his fellow Water-type.

“What's your story? Why do you want to battle us so badly?”

“Name's Zell, what are yours, great, glad introductions are done.” In a startling display of water mastery, he spat a squirt of water at each of their faces in quick succession. Even over the great distance between the Buizel and each member of Team Equalize, every squirt was aimed perfectly. The tiny Water Guns were so meager as to be harmless, but Squirtle dutifully met the one aimed at his face with a Water Gun of his own.

Before anyone else could say a word, Zell continued with a rapid explanation. “I've been living near the peaks recently, and I'm on my way to visit a friend a few miles south along the Karp. The 'mon I've fought upstream from here are laughably weak -- swim swim, fight fight, easy easy, you get it. Now here's a challenge: five travelers, every one of 'em a different species and Type. We're all looking energetic enough, so let's fight! We'll try our best, no regrets, no guilt, no anger, a friendly battle like any other. If you give your full effort, I'll give mine too. I always do. Ready?”

Squirtle looked at his companions, bewildered, but each of them looked ready to fight. Like it was the obvious course of action. Quil was the only one who seemed hesitant like him.

“Is there a problem over there, candle-head?” Zell called over, right on cue. “Are you too stupid to see that it's five of you and one of me?”

Quil's fires flickered as some emotion ran through him.

“And you, blue-skin, are you afraid to be outdone by a fellow unevolved Wet? Or maybe you want to stay dry?” His eyes drifted lazily to the side. “I understand. I hate it when I get water up my nose too.”

Oh, it's on.

Squirtle lowered himself to all fours once again. He needed to be ready to dodge or strike in reaction to the Buizel's first move. Zell's casually perfect accuracy indicated that the Buizel was not to be trifled with. Even five on one, a situation where victory was virtually guaranteed, one of them might be knocked out. If they ended up in the stream's current, they could float back into Weird Wood with the rest of the team too distracted or tired to haul them out.

Why though? Squirtle wondered in the tense stillness before the chaos of battle derailed his thoughts. He won't be improving his skills by being immediately overwhelmed by our combined strength. This battle isn't beneficial for him. Why is he so adamant about battling us?

Zell's muzzle stretched into a grin. “Finally all six of us want to battle. To be honest, you never had a choice.” His lips pulled back even farther, revealing his sharp white teeth. “With your help, I'll become even tougher.”

The water around Zell swirled around and over him. The Buizel jetted out of the stream and into the air from an explosion of water. In a trice he was arcing toward the bridge, trailing a tube of water in his wake. Squirtle could see him still grinning behind the water flowing over him as he closed the distance. By throwing himself sideways along the bridge, Squirtle was able to completely avoid contact, but Loria had not moved swiftly enough. Zell plowed into her, sending her flipping through the air. When she struck the ground next to the stream, she groaned but did not sit up.

What? How? One hit? One single technique?

Zell rejoined the stream on the other side of the bridge. Peroo was already diving down. He raised his wings and brought them down hard to send a blast of cutting wind in the Buizel's direction. Simultaneously, Squirtle spotted a flurry of fiery embers from Quil drifting down onto the Buizel's position.

Zell's eyes flitted between both threats for a mere second before he pulled water above his head with both paws and submersed himself in the shallow stream. Peroo's technique struck the water with enough force to generate a crater of air in the stream deep enough to reveal the streambed. Yet Zell was gone, now a blur of orange weaving upstream. As the water around the impact site slammed back together, Quil's embers were consumed with a loud hiss of steam.

Bein was standing near the edge of the stream with his bone raised for a throw or swing. Without a target, and obviously unwilling to jump into the water, Bein was useless until the Buizel showed himself. Peroo flapped upstream, following Zell's course. Right after he passed over Squirtle's head on the bridge, Zell exploded out of the stream once again. His water-encased body rocketed straight into Peroo from below. The Tranquill squawked as his body was compressed and sent tumbling haphazardly. Peroo's body trailed water droplets as he fell to the ground like Loria had. And again, once he met the earth, he remained where he'd landed.

Squirtle fired his Water Gun at a sharp upward angle to meet the Buizel at the height of his trajectory. He was rewarded with the Buizel being blasted out of his aquatic cocoon. Zell's limbs flailed for a moment as he tried to orient himself. That was when Bein's bone pegged him in the skull. The bone bounced off to land right back in the Cubone's grasp, while Zell plummeted. Bein was spinning around for another release of his bone as soon as he caught it, this one a back-handed release. The bone spun toward the Buizel and struck again just before he splashed into the stream.

Bein had never thrown his bone like that nor set it ricocheting back to his hand, so Squirtle was momentarily distracted. The Cubone must have expanded his repertoire of techniques. Squirtle blinked and returned his attention to the threat of the lone Buizel. The moment he located the flash of orange, Zell's head popped out to spew a stream of water at him.

The Bubble he'd been preparing stopped dead in his mouth. The move Zell had just executed was no Water Gun. No. The volume and pressure of the water was far too overwhelming to be called a mere Water Gun. Squirtle had no idea how the Buizel could propel so much water with so much force, but he had the privilege of experiencing the technique collide with his face.

For a few seconds, Squirtle's entire world was water. More water than he could ever want. It was in his eyes, his nostrils, his mouth. His legs couldn't find purchase. It dawned on him that he was in the middle of the stream. By the time he broke the surface to look for the battle, it was almost over.

Zell was standing tall on the Heartless Heights side of the stream. His chest swelled. He was going to use the same devastating water technique he'd used against Squirtle. Bein lunged forward and delivered a solid blow to the Buizel's side with his bone before being completely enveloped in the rush of water from Zell's mouth. The Buizel leaned forward to balance himself against what must have been immense force from the water stream.

Squirtle powered his tail left and right in order to speed closer to the battle as a drenched Bein was thrown against a tree. His eyes were closed when he collapsed at the base of the trunk. Quil exhaled a thick black smoke onto the ground at his feet that immediately concealed him from view. In response, Zell leaped backward and upward in a graceful backflip. At the peak of his arc while his body was briefly parallel to the ground, Squirtle saw his eyes scanning the battlefield. A smile crossed his features once his eyes met Squirtle's.

Here comes another attack, I'm sure of it.

Squirtle sent a stream of bubbles to the spot at the edge of the stream where the Buizel was going to land. Fortunately, his aim was dead on. Zell fell through the forerunners of the bubbles and grunted at the force from the many small detonations. Nonetheless, his movement did not slow.

Always in motion, Zell leaped the short distance into the shallows of the stream's edge. Then with a peculiar spin he kicked one foot below the stream's surface in Squirtle's direction. The water between Squirtle and Zell seemed to come alive with the Buizel's intentions. The water around Squirtle quivered and began rotating in response to the motion Zell had made. Reflexively, Squirtle lurched away, but the spinning streamwater had him firmly in its grasp. The water was rotating around him, forming a whirlpool with Squirtle at its center. Whenever he swam outward, the current pulled him back in. Zell had already turned his attention back to the dark cloud of smoke behind him.

“Quil, he's coming!” Squirtle yelled before preparing yet another Water Gun. Zell strode toward Quil's Smokescreen without a backward glance. Squirtle let loose, striking Zell right at the edge. He stumbled into the curtain of smoke and vanished from sight.

The other members of Team Equalize were still down for the count. As much as it pained him to admit it, Quil wouldn't last a second against Zell. Not only was Quil a Fire-type, but his fear of water had not been eradicated. An intimidated Pokémon could never give it their all. For that same reason, Squirtle couldn't afford to let Zell's power subdue his courage. Winning the battle was up to him now.

He struggled in the whirlpool's grasp and felt its momentum begin to slow. The move could only persist so long by itself. A flash of insight. Squirtle swam with the whirlpool's current, riding the swirl. He didn't have enough speed to escape the center, but soon enough...

Quil cried out with pain from within the smoke cloud. The glimpses that Squirtle had of the area were few as he circled the center of the whirlpool, but he could see the smoke was beginning to fade. Suddenly Quil was flung from the darkness toward the stream. He rolled and rolled, finally stopping with half of his body immersed in the shallows. Squirtle could tell how weakened he was. Every inch of his fur was soaked with water. Even so, Quil dragged himself out of the shallows and laid down on dry land.

At last, Squirtle reckoned he had achieved the 'escape velocity' of the dwindling whirlpool. He angled away from the center and fired himself toward the edge of the stream with a final whip of his tail. His belly skimmed along the stream's surface. Upon reaching the shallows, he planted his hands in the ground and somersaulted upward onto his feet.

Zell was waiting for him. The Buizel's bright colors contrasted sharply with the smoke remnants drifting apart behind him. Though he stood tall, he was shaking his left arm as if to wring out an ache. His fur was wet, blackened, and disheveled in various places. More significantly, he was panting. The battle hadn't gone entirely in the Buizel's favor. Squirtle still had a chance if he could find some advantage, or some weakness to exploit.

Zell shifted his left foot to a wider stance. His mouth became a growl and his eyes locked onto Squirtle. Water oozed out of every part of his body, and in a flash, the Buizel was enveloped in swirling waters.

Incredible, thought Squirtle. He didn't try to hide his envy. This is a true master of his element. Even outside the stream, water is his to command. It's an extension of his body. He commands his Pool as easily as his arms or legs.

Zell crouched low. He was going to jet right into Squirtle and end the battle. The waters swirled faster to become a streamlined torpedo with the tip lined up with the Buizel's nose.

How? I don't understand, but I need to know!

“Wait!” he shouted. Zell straightened within his aquatic vessel. “How are you so tough? How are your moves so insanely strong?”

The water peeled away and splashed against the ground like a discarded jacket. The Buizel crossed his arms and stared at Squirtle.

“Why're you flapping your tongue during a battle? You should be focused on your moves. On winning.”

Squirtle shook his head. “I know, but I'm about to be knocked out, right? Or close to it. I have to know before you continue downstream. How did you become this...force of nature?”

One side of Zell's muzzle quirked up. “I strive to become the toughest battler this world has ever seen! A common goal, I know, I know. That won't stop me. I'll keep swimming the waterways of these lands getting better and better. Every 'mon will know my name. Even the Zappers will tremble when they hear it!”

“What happened to living in Heartless Heights and visiting a friend on the Karp?”

Zell flicked his words away with the back of one paw. “I wasn't lying about those, but they're both temporary. I never stay put for long. I have work to do.” He widened his stance again. “Satisfied?”

If the Buizel attacked now, it would be over. He needed more time. “No, wait. Shouldn't you have evolved into a Floatzel with how many battles you've fought?”

Zell's expression hardened into something like icy determination. There was a mixture of longing and conviction when he spoke. “Each time I use a technique, I can feel my buoy swelling. My fur itching. Every time I take a hit, I can feel my body trying to change. It wants to evolve. But I won't let it!”

He sliced the air with a paw. “I'll prove you don't even need to evolve to be the best! I, Zell the Buizel, will be the first of my kind. I'll be in every river-tale. Every last one.” The smile was back. “Thanks for helping me on my way, you curious Squirtle. Now brace yourself.”

Squirtle was already quite tired. The torrent he'd endured had been very draining, and the whirlpool had been icing on the cake. One hit, maybe two thanks to his Type and durable shell, and he'd be out of it like the others. What could he do to defeat Zell?

Their shared resistance to offensive Water techniques was both a blessing and a curse. It had no doubt gotten him this far, even if Zell had prioritized the others first. On the flip side, Squirtle could inflict little damage with his water or bubble streams. That left withdrawing into his shell, whipping his tail about distractingly, or a simple Tackle. Withdrawing would help little at this point, and Zell was too fast to provide ample warning anyway. The 'Tail Whip' technique was unsuitable as a sole combatant. Was Tackle really all that remained? He glanced left and right for some creative solution to winning the battle. Pine trees, branches. Stones. Dirt. Bridge. No, no. Nothing came to mind.

Bein's backpack. It was tempting, but was Squirtle really going to use up the expensive and invaluable supplies for a battle like this? Plus, running all the way to Bein and fumbling with the backpack's pouches was guaranteed to be too slow.

Water enveloped Zell again. Desperate, Squirtle cast his mind back through his recent memories. In his mind, his arms were outstretched to claw at every bit of information that passed. He needed something, anything. Most prominent were the memories of Quil's improvement in the face of water, his nemesis. He recalled Quil's initial fear and tentativeness. Then, slowly and by admirable willpower, Quil had achieved success. He had done what needed to be done. He'd faced his problem head-on and conquered it. Really, it was that simple.

Squirtle knew what he had to do, but his fear of failure had been incapacitating him. Tackle. With everything he had. Earlier, he'd said it himself. An intimidated Pokémon could never give it their all. Fear was a losing strategy. Now was the time to boldly attack. It was sure better than getting nailed while still reaching for a solution. What was he waiting for?

He dropped to all fours and let his fighting spirit take full control. Zell's smile fell and he replied to Squirtle's snarl with a growling bark of his own. The water around Zell swirled faster. He crouched in preparation to spring forward.

Squirtle was sprinting on all fours to meet his opponent. One thought dominated his mind: take the Buizel down.

In response to his need, he became aware of something deep in his core. A nugget of warmth, like a burning coal ready to burst apart and unleash its heat throughout his body. Squirtle hardly gave it a passing thought as he allowed it to do so; more energy was what he needed. His view shimmered and brightened, like the sun was in his eyes. Sunlight was warming his face, his tail, his shell, his entire body. Vibrant energy was coursing through him.

He stopped his charge to allow the energy the chance to work its magic. Far from a feeling of violation or intrusion, the experience felt like the most natural thing in the world. Every piece of his body was molded and changed from within. His brow grew more pronounced. Fangs extended over his hard lower lip. Strands of hair sprouted from the bottom of his shell, concealing his tail with smooth curls. Long ears emerged from his taut skin before being covered in the same fur. His tiny fingers were overtaken by thickening, whitening claws. All the while, his feet pressed harder against the ground. His weight was rapidly increasing. The ground receded. He was growing much taller.

Joy leaped in Squirtle's heart. He knew very well what was happening to him and welcomed the change. Here was a tangible result of his progress and improvement, goals he had always strove for. With his new form, he had a better chance than ever at beating the Buizel in their duel.

The light faded. Zell was waiting with the water still whirling around his form. His face was eager with anticipation, a match for the new vigor Squirtle could feel in his muscles.

Wouldn't want to keep him waiting, would I? He grinned. His new fangs pressed comfortably against his lip.

Zell launched himself straight ahead as Squirtle dug his toe claws into the ground and sprinted forward anew. A primal abandon seized Squirtle. He opened his larger mouth wide and bit down hard as Zell powered into the front of his shell. Squirtle's jaws ripped through the water and slammed shut on the Buizel's rubbery cheek.

Squirtle's new ears caught nothing but the roar of water as Zell continued his drive into Squirtle's shell. Water was beating against him, the pressure from Zell's technique shaking out all of his energy. Squirtle bit down harder. Zell veered skyward. The water blasting out behind him propelled them both into the air. They remained connected by Squirtle's jaws and Zell's spear-point of water.

For almost five seconds they soared upward. Squirtle's jaw tired. He released his grip in order to relax for another bite, when the water surrounding Zell broke apart into individual ribbons and droplets. Only two dripping, airborne Pokémon remained. No Pokémon technique lasted forever, and the intensive technique that Zell had been using must have been difficult to maintain.

Squirtle lunged for another bite on the Buizel, but the inches separating them was a vast crevasse when Squirtle had nothing to push his feet against. The reasoning aspect of Squirtle rose to the surface as the problem presented itself. He could rotate around, then shoot out some water to redirect his body back toward the Buizel. If he waited for the apex of their flight upward, which was coming up in a second, he might be lucky enough for it to work.

As Squirtle drifted slowly away from Zell and their upward momentum ran out, a view of the picturesque forest and mountain slopes all around presented itself to Squirtle above the treetops. Squirtle's reason realized another problem at the sight: he was about to plummet more than a hundred feet to the hard ground below. Possibly strike the unforgiving wood of some thick branches. Possibly smash into the dense stones of the shallow stream. Biting Zell could wait.

Zell waved his arms and tails in an obvious attempt to place his feet below him. Squirtle expected he would re-use the same Water technique again to slow his fall, but he doubted it would be enough to save the Buizel from a bone-rattling impact. Squirtle withdrew his head and limbs, shuddering at the unexpected sensation of the silken fur of his ears and tail brushing against their shell rims. He arranged himself into the brace position he'd perfected with time. The ground grew larger every time his shell's rotation brought it into view. At the instant of impact he threw his weight against the inside of his shell.

THOOM.


	32. Chill

Squirtle awoke with nightfall. He gingerly emerged from his shell and winced at the mix of soreness and exhaustion. The beautiful colors filtering through the western canopy indicated that the sun had set moments ago. He looked down, finding himself in the center of a small crater near the stream.

“Welcome back, Squirtle,” said Quil with exaggerated emphasis on the last word. He was lying belly-down in front of Squirtle with half-lidded eyes. Peroo, Loria, and Bein all sat or lay beside him in similar poses of recuperation. From his new perspective, they all looked shorter and smaller now. Squirtle experienced a moment of surrealism.

Zell the Buizel reclined on his side a bit further away. He held his upper body upright with one paw against the ground. Squirtle couldn't be sure, but if he had to guess, Zell hadn't maintained consciousness after the fall either.

“Hello every--” Squirtle croaked before his jaw dropped in surprise. He sounded almost exactly like Wartortle from the Blindhollow Seed Nursery. The words he chose and the flow of his speech would differentiate him, but the essential sound of his voice was the same.

Quil chuckled. “Yep, enjoy the novelty of evolution while it lasts. Congratulations!”

The others in the circle echoed Quil with varying degrees of weariness in their voices. Even Zell chipped in from afar. He slowly stood and strode over to Squirtle.

“I haven't had a battle like that in weeks! I'm super glad all of you were crossing that bridge while I floated by.” He bowed his long body. “Thank you all. Congrats again, Wartortle.”

Squirtle joined the others in showing their respect before repeating the word, tasting it. “Wartortle.”

As Zell walked shakily to the stream's edge and slipped into the water, Peroo said, “Sure am ticked that I missed you evolving, but I was barely awake. It's so rare to witness an evolution!”

Squirtle frowned. It was rare, wasn't it? Here, in a world with no trainers, gyms, or leagues, Pokémon likely took many years before they could evolve. Thus, witnessing an evolution would be uncommon indeed. If it weren't for Squirtle's influence.

If Quil's evolution being ahead of schedule had ever been in doubt, this proved it. Something about Squirtle was accelerating others' improvement in battle, causing relatively rapid evolution. And evidently, that influence even changed his own body. He had somehow encouraged his body to evolve far earlier than an ordinary Squirtle's would have.

In a moment of unexpected empathy, Squirtle knew exactly how Quil had felt after realizing his evolution hadn't fully been under his control. He felt unclean, defiled by some unnatural presence. Was he even worthy of the evolution he had attained? But yes, of course he was. He was the only one responsible for his evolution in a way that differentiated him from Quil. Even if some aspect of his humanity had brought it about, it was his humanity. Not like he could turn it off, and really, why would he? As Quil had realized in the end, he should be celebrating his evolution.

He came out of his thoughts to see the others chatting about whether or not they'd seen the evolution. Quil watched him with concern. Squirtle knew that Quil had guessed what he was thinking. His friend could certainly relate. He returned a small smile. Quil nodded almost imperceptibly but continued to watch Squirtle closely.

“You okay?” Bein grunted as he, too, eyed Squirtle.

Squirtle had no desire to ruin the occasion and the happiness the team felt for him with any sour thoughts. “Yes, I'm fine. Just getting used to this. By the way, that was impressive when you threw your bone at Zell and caught it again, twice in a row.”

“Mm. Thanks. Getting to the point where I can feel where it's going to go based on how I throw it.”

“I saw that too!” Peroo chirped. “Sounds like a, a, what-do-you-call-it, boomerang! You lot heard of those things?”

“Yes,” said Loria, and continued with a waggish tone. “Though Bein's technique involves a bone – a Bonemerang.”

Squirtle put a palm to his face as everyone groaned at the cheesy name. He narrowly avoided gouging himself in the eye with one of his new claws. Even though his fingers had been mostly replaced by the vicious weapons, he retained enough dexterity to use the claws with precision. Thankfully they were partially opposable so he would be able to tie ropes or manipulate objects almost as easily as when he'd been a Squirtle. He easily picked up a browned pine needle resting in front of him and flicked it aside. With a mental chuckle, he recalled the disgust he felt at having claws on his first day as a Squirtle.

He continued to examine his new body as the others continued chatting. Tapping on his scutes produced an almost wooden sound as before, though now it was more resonant. The color of his skin was now like the sky in late afternoon, as opposed to the cheery sky at noon. He startled himself when he found he possessed limited control over his furry ears. When he rotated them a few degrees and practiced swinging them slightly forward or backward, he was reminded of how he drew circles in the air with his new tail on his first day as a Squirtle. Childishly entertained. He leaned right and left, testing the ponderous weight of his much larger shell. While it followed that being two or three times heavier would make him slower and less maneuverable on his feet, Squirtle did not feel any more cumbersome. His legs felt up to the challenge of moving him about as well as he had as a Squirtle, once he'd rested up, if not better.

Squirtle spun as something tapped on his shell-back. It was Quil. He'd barely noticed his friend circling around.

“Since I bet you'll be curious tonight or tomorrow,” Quil said, “you have the same scars and scrapes. Could you turn back around for a second? Ha, even the dark scratch is still there. Remember when you fell into those rocks right before we fought that Zigzagoon?”

“Yes,” Squirtle grunted as he tried in vain to reach behind him and feel the scratch for himself. His arms were still too short, and not nearly as flexible as his human arms had been. He no longer had elbows outside his shell, after all.

“Your arms aren't going to reach, Squirtle,” Peroo pointed out unnecessarily. “Fold your wings, what should we call you now?”

“Fold your wings?” Squirtle laughed.

“Flyer expression. Obviously. Why don't we call you Al then, since you're so smart? That's short for Alakazam.”

The others smiled or snickered. Squirtle was not amused. “Heard something like that before,” he murmured.

That sort of attitude, one of aloof and vainglorious intellect, was what he'd been actively working against since Karprest. He wanted a name as ordinary as possible. A name that wouldn't stand out or be memorable would be ideal. The perfect name came to mind; thinking of it was easy enough.

“Wartortle,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Just Wartortle.”

“Nameless again, okay!” Quil said cheerfully in a transparent effort to lift Squirtle's mood. “I've heard that occasionally Pokémon rename themselves when they evolve, especially the nameless ones. Seems like it's the best opportunity. Most keep their name though. Right?” he asked the others.

“Right,” said Peroo slowly, exchanging a glance with Bein. Squirtle wondered at the significance behind Peroo's tone and the look. Was Quil stating the obvious for his benefit, and Peroo found that strange? Or was Quil way off, and Peroo was perplexed by that?

“I'll be Wartortle,” he confirmed. “Like the Wartortle in Blindhollow.”

Just like in my old life, it seems you can't get away from duplicate names no matter where life takes you.

“Your eyes,” Loria pointed out. “Now they are brown as tree bark.”

“Aw, I liked them better when they were purple! They were different,” Quil said. “No offense Sq--Wartortle.”

“I did too,” Wartortle admitted, feeling self-conscious.

“Tougher 'mon, tougher color,” Bein said simply. He looked to be getting bored with the conversation. “Sleep now, finish recovering, hit Cavetown in the morning?”

There were nods all around. Little choice remained to them, with light dwindling and bodies aching. Bein dug the hole, and everyone shared a chuckle when it quickly became obvious that the typical hole size was now too small. They chatted a few minutes more, specifically about the details of the battle. Everyone agreed that Zell was absolutely too tough for any one of them individually, and that it was bound to evolve any day like Wartortle had. He opened his mouth to mention the Buizel's life goal and desire to remain a Buizel, but something stopped him.

“Were you going to say something Wartortle?” Quil asked in the expectant silence.

“Did any of you see if he was still conscious after we fell?” he asked instead. “I mean, did we technically win?”

“I let myself pass out after I saw you evolve,” Quil said. None of the others had been coherent enough to witness Wartortle and Zell landing after their mid-air struggle above the treetops. It was impossible to tell who had won. Zell hadn't made it clear before slipping away.

“I guess sometimes,” Wartortle mused as he admired his thick claws against the clear evening sky, “it's helpful to fight a battle regardless of its outcome.”

The claws of his other hand furrowed the dirt as he clenched them. He said nothing more that night.

* * *

“We'll be talking about the mission in the commons in a few minutes,” Quil told a trio of Rattata as the members of Team Equalize descended the uneven steps of Cavetown's main entrance tunnel. The throat of the mountain. The Rattata nodded eagerly and watched as the team continued deeper.

Quil sounded like he'd relaxed into his role as unofficial 'spokesmon'. Wartortle felt no need to script or assist with the speech Quil was going to give. Admittedly, that was partly because he was at a loss for how to tell the crowd with dignity that they'd failed. Quil would get the crowd on their side, he was sure. Quil would put their efforts in a heroic light.

Before the commons, the team stopped by Nape's bank in The Lattice. Wartortle helped Bein take off the backpack and unload it. All their supplies were going back into storage for future missions. Nape was eager to take care of it. He asked excitedly about the happenings at Karprest, but Quil suggested he simply come with them to the commons for a fuller report.

“The missions you 'mon are goin' on have built up a bunch of hype,” said Nape as they walked. “My bank's drawn some curious eyes, and now some Cavetowners are askin' for this Monferno's help for their own storage.”

He paused to study Wartortle's reaction, who said, “Interesting. I think that's great, actually. Cavetown must be having more traffic than ever, so I imagine it's safer for possessions to be in your bank than in public places like the refugees' Habitation Caverns.”

“Hee, perfect, 'cause I already started storin' their stuff all over! It's fun work, and helpful too!”

Wartortle smiled at Nape's enthusiasm as Quil directed yet another inquirer to the commons. Apparently Wartortle had kick-started the beginnings of a banking system here in Cavetown. Possibly the first bank in all the land. Was he a meddler now, manipulating the advancement of social science and philosophy among Pokémon? Another reason why he should be removing himself from any position of leadership or importance in this society.

By the time Team Equalize had gathered at the customary cluster of mushrooms in the commons for the speech, the huge cavern was more populated than Wartortle had ever seen. It must have been a combination of the continued refugee immigration and the excitement about the teams' missions. Quil visibly swallowed, and Wartortle gave him a reassuring pat on his side. Wartortle was no longer dwarfed by his friend. Now their eyes were approximately level when Quil stood on his hind legs.

“I wish we had happier news to share,” Quil said under the voices of the crowd.

Couldn't agree more. I don't envy your position as the speaker right now, Wartortle thought.

“I agree. We can never know what might have been, though. Maybe our actions at Karprest, or lack thereof, were for the best. Maybe.”

“Quil! And...Squirtle? Spangle me, is that you?” said an unmistakable voice above the crowd's murmur. Viper. She inched toward the mushrooms beside a surprised-looking Hayzin.

“I am happy to see you all again,” said the Zebstrika as he looked over Loria, Peroo, Bein, and Quil. His eyes kept returning to Wartortle. “Please accept my sincere congratulations! You go by Wartortle now, yes?”

“Congrats, Wartortle, congrats!” said Viper as her head swung around, full of enthusiasm, on her flexible neck.

“Thank you, thanks,” Wartortle said, feeling a passing urge to withdraw from the situation. “More importantly, how was the Needleloft mission?”

“A decisive success,” Hayzin reported with satisfaction. “Our companions, the two Houndour and the Sneasel, remained in Needleloft after our victory. We'd love to tell you about it later, as we did for the crowd in this very cavern yesterday evening. We did not mention any of our future plans--”

“Because we don't have any!” interrupted Viper.

“The crowd was keen to hear about our next move,” Hayzin continued after closing his eyes for a second and taking a calming breath. “Many kindly offered to help in the ways they could, or to join our next efforts outside of Cavetown. I believe our success has banished the doubt and fear in many 'mon who had previously...disdained what we are trying to do. I thought you should be informed, before your team spoke.”

“Er, noted,” said Quil, whose posture slumped ever so slightly. “I guess I'd better hop up and start, everyone's waiting.”

Quil leaped to the top of the highest mushroom without further ado. The crowd quieted, and he began. Wartortle stood by, ready to leap up and support him, but he doubted he could say anything better himself. When Quil reached the part where the team first spoke with Stolt in Karprest, his pace slowed to thoughtful phrases and sentences instead of a steady and easy stream. The crowd exploded when he talked about the moments after the tour.

“Believe me, we were all ready to either battle or have a discussion about Karprest with the 'mon who lived there. Once the tour was over though, we had a new sense of Stolt and the town. We decided to not intervene, and to let--”

The conversations of the crowd swelled to an outcry of surprise and disapproval. Half a minute passed before Quil could continue.

“If you had been there for yourselves, you would understand! My gut knew that Karprest had changed. It might not have changed for the better, but getting Stolt out of there wasn't going to help. The situation is complicated. We wouldn't say you Karprest refugees should return, but we also wouldn't suggest that you stay here. For us Karprest isn't a problem, and if it really is a problem, it's not one we can fix.”

Low conversation continued amid shouts of mixed sentiments.

“Cowards!”

“Thanks for trying!”

“Are you Confused or stupid?”

“What's next?”

Quil must have caught that last one, as he said, “Today we will be meeting in our base to decide what to do next. If you know of any new problems related to the Electric boost, please post them on our request board by tomorrow. That's when we'll leave. That's all I have to say. Thanks for coming.”

“That went about as well as it could have,” said Wartortle as Quil hopped down. The crowd's reaction wasn't homogeneous; some individuals were already on their way out while many of them milled about before leaving.

“Our team's success was absolute,” said Hayzin, “and they all know that. They won't lose their faith with our endeavor.”

Fifteen or twenty Pokémon approached the mushroom cluster after the speech. Most came to congratulate Wartortle on his evolution. Some requested to join them on the next mission. Quil asked these to stop by Team Base in the morning. Others wanted clarification on the team's thoughts on Karprest. Only one, a Machop, came to thank them. Together, Wartortle and the others made their way back to Team Base. On the way, he spotted an unfamiliar sign at one of the major tunnel junctures. It depicted a lightning bolt with an 'X' crossing it out.

“Is this what I think it is?” asked Wartortle as a thrill rose within him.

Hayzin snorted out his large nostrils. “I don't like it, though I understand the message the Smeargle is trying to illustrate.”

“Never seen it before,” said Viper. “Let's follow it, see where it leads.”

Wartortle couldn't resist a small chuckle as he said, “Okay, let's do that.” He was unsurprised when the signs pointed them along the route they had already been taking. The sight of Team Base when they arrived, however, caught Wartortle off guard.

The end of the small tunnel had been expanded into a spacious cave. The light in the room was brighter than ever. Wartortle noticed that more of the bioluminescent fungi had been transplanted onto the walls and ceiling by some unknown, but most assuredly delicate procedure. The far wall featured numerous hollows of a range of sizes. The floors and walls of each hollow had been smoothed by expert hands, and an appropriately-sized blanket was resting in each. The request board was larger than before. Extra slats rested neatly beneath the board for additional new requests. Finally, a large square table of rock had been set in the exact center of the room. One long bench and some chairs were set around the table for those who could, and preferred, to sit.

“You ask for all this?” Bein asked Wartortle as he walked the perimeter of the table.

“No, it wasn't me. Not all of it. I only asked for the spare slats for the board. This is...this is amazing.”

“Generous,” Loria said as she stroked one of the blankets. It looked very soft, either for bundling up or as cushioning from the rock.

“I don't think we earned this,” Quil said quietly. “I feel bad knowing the Cavetowners did this for us. I'd feel even worse if refugees helped.”

Wartortle grimaced. “We most certainly did not earn it. What's done is done though. I personally think we should be very appreciative of all of this. The Pokémon here are relying on us. They've gone out of their way to show their support by making our base cozy and comfortable.” An important point was creeping up on him, a revelation. He looked around at Bein, Loria, Quil, Viper, Peroo, and Hayzin.

“This work we're doing, these missions, building up our supplies and funds, keeping everyone informed, utilizing the services that Cavetown has to offer...this is more than the effort of we who are here right now. Team members will be coming and going, but it looks like we're going to keep growing. Cavetown's only getting bigger and this base is a part of it. We'll be able to take on increasing numbers of requests simultaneously. More and more Pokémon will be joining us.”

Now he had everyone's eye. He looked down at his claws. “More and more will be out there fighting beside us for our cause. And they'll have this network, this incredible support system at their backs. What I mean to say is that we're much more than some traveling liberation team now. We're like...a guild. Or...a society.”

He wondered if there was a perfect word for the meaning he was struggling to convey. Loria found it for him.

“We're the Resistance. We do not rest while malevolent Zappers crush happiness. We resist with all our power.”

The room fell perfectly silent. Peroo, Hayzin, Bein, and Viper were spellbound. Quil's mouth was open, his eyes shining with emotion. Wartortle thought his friend might cry.

“Exactly,” breathed Wartortle.

* * *

Team Equalize and what remained of Team Recover lounged in their revamped headquarters for a comfortable couple of hours. Hayzin and Viper told the complete tale of how Needleloft had been saved. Cradle Vale was an icy valley high up in the mountains, highly suitable for a population of Sneasel and Weavile. Hayzin related that the town took its name from the cone-like rocks shaped like needles pointing to the clouds. He said the delicately narrow formations were all around the mountain slope upon which Needleloft was constructed.

Team Recover confronted the Dedenne, who went simply by Dedenne, and fought him in full view of every Pokémon living in Needleloft. Viper told this part of the story. The battle was uneven in favor of Team Recover for two reasons: they had Hayzin's electricity, and the Dedenne fought alone. They still ended up using a Cheri Berry during the fight to reverse the Paralysis of one of the Houndour, which pleased Wartortle to hear. Bringing a backpack of supplies had been helpful to them. After Dedenne came to, they forced him to lead the team to where he'd hidden the Razor Claws. The Pokémon of Needleloft were overjoyed when the items were returned to them, allowing the ceremony for the town's Sneasel to proceed.

“Showing Dedenne lose a battle like any other 'mon was crucial,” said Hayzin. “Needleloft has seen that Zappers are not like the Legendaries of hatchling stories. They can be defeated.”

Viper added, “They saw that Zappers can be good, too!” She extended her length to lightly jab Hayzin in the shoulder, whose ears twitched as he smiled.

“Why'd that crazy Dedenne go and steal the things anyway?” Peroo asked, perched on a chair back.

Hayzin sighed. “I fear it was all a childish tantrum. He explained that he was jealous of the ceremony and celebrations for the Sneasel of Needleloft. As a 'mon with no evolution, Dedenne wanted the town to know his pain. He stole the Razor Claws to prevent the Sneasel from evolving. Forcing them to live, as he said, 'overlooked as the snow'.”

“I can't blame the Dedenne too much,” said Quil as most of the others expressed their scorn and disbelief at the Dedenne's motive. “He was living in a town where Sneasel and Weavile get all the attention. They're the majority. The Dedenne only wanted some recognition. To feel better than them for once.”

Wartortle, at Quil's side, shook his head as a friendly debate began. It was easy to see both sides, but which one was justified? The Dedenne had certainly taken his power too far. Yet feeling left out in a town like Needleloft sounded like a natural consequence of its spotlight on the Sneasel line. The Dedenne had used his power to force his viewpoint onto others, albeit in a childish and vindictive manner. While stealing the Razor Claws and preventing the ceremony were reprehensible steps to take, allowing the Pokémon of Needleloft a glimpse of their lifestyle from the perspective of a species outside of the Sneasel line was perhaps beneficial to all. And who knew? The Dedenne might have been bullied or ostracized for not being a Sneasel. The biased requests on the board might have left details out about how the Dedenne had been wronged.

Complications, lies, moral dilemmas. Wartortle clenched his claws. Again. He'd been doing that often since Karprest. It's reasons like this that I refuse to lead the Resistance any longer. Maybe leaving the Zappers alone is the best thing to do, maybe it'll all work itself out in the end. Or, maybe that will end in misery and ruin for Pokémon everywhere. Who am I to tell? I've only been around for two and a half weeks!

I can't zip my mouth closed and refrain from giving any input, either. While that would save me from feeling like a bully or being responsible for major choices, that's not how I work. I'd go crazy. And if I ever disagreed with what we were doing, which would happen often if history repeats itself, I wouldn't be able to give it my all like I've been doing up until now.

If I step down, I'd have to walk away completely. I'd have to leave the Resistance.

He would miss the faces he saw around him. Wartortle didn't know what he would be doing next, but he wouldn't be out in the field with Bein's steady presence at his back. He wouldn't be hearing Viper's wild stories or Hayzin's quiet irritation. Peroo's swift shadow. Loria's humming in battle. They'd be trying to save the world without him.

His role in the dream he'd shared with Quil would be over. To fight the oppression, the imbalance, the suffering. To help Pokémon. His friend's heart was still in it. Wartortle's was not. He'd have to part ways with Quil. Wartortle's insides squirmed at the notion, as if to say, 'No way!'

What do you want me to do, you stupid Wartortle body? Instincts, Pokémon nature, intuition, whatever you want me to call you! I thought the Resistance was supposed to be my magnum opus, my entire reason I became a Pokémon. And look at me now, lost and confused. It's not exactly working out for me, now is it? So I've come to a parting of ways with Quil and the others, get over it!

He looked around at their faces once again. At the new Team Base, Cavetown's show of support and gratitude. At the requests from Pokémon who had put their hope into the hands of the Resistance. The Resistance. The Resistance. This was only the beginning. They would be growing, achieving success near and far, becoming a positive force. Everyone would yell and cheer when the Resistance was back in town from a mission.

How was he supposed to make the decision to leave this when it was being rubbed in his face?

“I'm going to check on something, I'll be back later,” he announced after Peroo had finished his sentence. Team Equalize was sharing some choice moments from the battles in Blind Prairie two days prior. The timing was perfect, as everyone was too engrossed in picturing the battle in their minds to question him.

Sparing himself the pain of a backward glance, Wartortle fled the bright cave and let his feet carry them where they willed. He tallied the pros and cons of leaving the Resistance in his mind. Every point was analyzed before being dismissed. The number of cons should have made it an easy decision, but the weight of the pros was undeniable. Without a drastic change in viewpoint or personality, he could not see himself being a part of the next job.

Next, he tackled the problem of what he should be doing instead. His memories were likely as whole as they would ever be. To find more answers, he would have to find his fellow man. Someone in Cavetown might have heard of humans, unlike Quil. He could wander the land, following rumors until he found true civilization. Assuming nothing outlandish had occurred, like Wartortle being sent through time or to an alternate universe, humans had to be found somewhere. If only he'd paid more attention to astronomy growing up, he might have been able to determine his location from the stars and their constellations. As it stood, locating other humans would be an ordeal.

Living the rest of his life out as a native Wartortle wasn't a valid option. He could still vividly recall the sense of immense purpose he'd felt after making his decision to become a Pokémon. Try as he might, that responsibility could not be disregarded. The deep-seated impetus remained.

Wartortle was still engrossed in his thoughts when he found himself emerging out of a steep and narrow tunnel into daylight. Not a single cloud was in sight to obscure the brilliance of the sun directly above. Thanks to the calm air, he could really feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and shell. He planted himself in front of the tunnel exit to take in the vista of majestic mountains beyond. From this side of the mountain that housed Cavetown, Wartortle learned how diminutive it was in comparison to the other mountains of Heartless Heights. Cavetown's mountain was only a precursor for the mountain range. Most of the other mountains were capped with snow and peaking at a much higher elevation.

A brown lump of a Pokémon was slumped on the rocky ground in front of the tunnel. Wartortle recognized the dark stripes on its back and the lack of obvious legs, though it took a moment for the species name to come to him. Swinub. Once Wartortle's attention was on it, the Pokémon spoke.

“You're the first 'mon to find my secret spot,” she said in a voice that barely permitted Wartortle to hear her words. She had a delicate pink nose, but her eyes appeared shut behind her heavy lids. The soft voice and closed eyes reminded him of Quil as a Cyndaquil.

“Even though this is an exit, no one leaves this way?” he asked.

The Swinub's nose shook left and right. “Not that I've seen. If you walk out a few steps and look down, you can see this exit leads to a precipice. Unless you can fly, you might slip and roll down the mountain. And there are better exits from Cavetown for Flyers.”

Wartortle did as she suggested. Soon he was toeing the beginnings of a steep slope that headed downward. A breath of mountain wind passed over him as he looked. He withdrew and sat himself down next to the Swinub with a clink of his shell's bottom.

“Aren't you that Wartortle?” said the Swinub.

He couldn't help but laugh at the reminder of his celebrity status. “That's me. The famous Wartortle. Co-founder of the Resistance, lead strategist, and savior of wherever I happen to set foot. When I'm on the case, problems are solved and Pokémon are happy. It's that easy.”

The Swinub didn't appear to know how to react to his tone. “Sorry,” he said. “I'm sorting out some issues right now. That's why I came here. I didn't mean to vent. Oh, do you mind that I'm in your secret spot?”

This time, Wartortle recognized her pause as the one that signified a Pokémon trying to make sense of his human expressions. He was beginning to know that pause well. She soon responded. “No, it's alright. I may be a Cavetowner but I can't claim a whole tunnel exit. It's a pleasure for someone to finally come by here, especially you.”

Wartortle felt a flash of embarrassment. If she knew of his failures and how lost he was, she wouldn't be welcoming him as a hero.

“Is it alright,” she continued, “if I ask what issues you're having? I'd like to help.”

Wartortle hesitated, doubting in her ability to help. His mind was dissecting such topics as humanity, science, the nature of leadership, happiness. She was a Swinub. Yet that was the arrogance he was trying to rid his mind of. He needed to work on giving Pokémon more credit. She seemed reasonable enough. Enough, maybe, to help him.

“My name is Swinee,” she said, no doubt sensing his discomfort. “Very easy.”

“Just Wartortle,” he returned, rising to his feet.

Swinee lurched off the ground toward him. Returning the Tackle in time was difficult since she had no visible legs to broadcast her movement, but he managed. They sat back down. Another breath of wind blew past, rippling the long hairs of Swinee's back. It faded some, but never fully died away. The wind was far from being too cold for Wartortle to bear, thanks to his Pokémon constitution, so he chose to enjoy it. It added to the character of the mountains.

“Whatever we talk about here, you have to promise not to share it with anyone else in Cavetown. I don't want the general public to learn that the Resistance is neither as fearless nor as wise as we make ourselves sound.”

“Oh. I understand.” She sounded downcast, but quickly hid it. “I promise. What do you mean that you 'mon aren't wise enough?”

So Wartortle told her of the team's meeting and decision to help the Pokémon of Karprest. The voyage. The shock of arriving to find a happy and productive town. The confusion, not knowing how to proceed. Wartortle's feelings as a leader who had let his team down. The regrettable viewpoint he hadn't known he'd possessed, that most Pokémon didn't truly know what they wanted. That they were meant to be led by those with power in some form or another. He tried to keep the story and his explanations professional, as a Public Relations representative from the lab he used to work in might. As he reached the meatier portions, however, he deteriorated to the style of a heartfelt outflow.

The wind continued to pick up and some clouds rolled in from the northeastern horizon. Wartortle knew his eyes were deceiving him, but clouds looked to be spontaneously forming overhead, too. The speed of the incoming cloud cover had cast quite an illusion. He raised his voice louder to be clearly heard as he wondered how good the Swinub's hearing was through all the shaggy hair. His own hearing had improved due to the long external ears he now possessed. As he reached the tour's conclusion in his shortened story, Swinee broke in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to mention how lucky you are to be here today. Every other traveler and refugee, too. I've lived here for years so I can say it's rare to have such a thick cloud cover. There will be a snowstorm for sure!”

Wartortle smiled. “Where I come from, that's bad weather.” He took another look at her coat of thick hair. “But you're an Ice-type, aren't you?”

“Correct, I'm a Freezer and a Grounder. Cavetown's a perfect place for a Swinub like me.” It looked like she'd only briefly taken her gaze off the skies. Her nostrils were widening and contracting. “I can't believe how quickly those clouds rolled in. This will be a terrific storm. I can already smell the cold on the wind.”

Indeed, Wartortle could certainly feel it now. When the wind gusted especially strongly, the cold bit into him. The chill threatened to draw the heat from his body. Even as a Pokémon, Wartortle would have preferred to be somewhere warmer. That meant the temperature had plummeted to freezing temperatures or close to it. Even as he examined the novel discomfort of frigid cold, the air grew even colder. The first snowflake drifted past his nose.

“We should warn everyone in Cavetown,” she said over the wind. Her volume was probably outside of her comfort zone, if Quil's was an indication.

Wartortle motioned for her to join him in retreating into the tunnel. Together they escaped into the shelter of the narrow tunnel, but neither was willing to continue on to Cavetown. Like seeing an approaching tornado or witnessing some horrible event unfold, Wartortle's eyes were glued to the worsening storm. The sunny day had been devoured by thick gray clouds. The snowfall began in earnest as the wind picked up to a howl. By some acoustical phenomenon, the tunnel's mouth moaned like a gargantuan beast tormented by the freezing wind.

“You're right, we should warn them,” said Wartortle. How would that help though? If any 'mon were right outside of Cavetown, they'd obviously know about the storm. The ones inside would quickly learn since news would spread rapidly from Cavetown's main entrance. No one would be able to abate the storm. Weather was weather.

“Yes,” Wartortle thought he heard Swinee murmur. She was still watching the outside world transform. Wartortle didn't bother to share his recent thoughts. The storm was mesmerizing. Already the dark rock outside the tunnel was hidden by a mounting layer of fresh white snow. Over the wind, a new sound reached his ears.

Chok. Chok. Chok chok. Chok. Chok chok chok chok CHOK CHOK CHOK CHOK--

Hail had started beating down with alarming swiftness. The tirade sent the occasional tiny shard of transparent ice ricocheting into the tunnel. They weren't large enough to do any harm, but the shards caused a question to surface in Wartortle's mind. Swinee apparently had the same thought at the same time.

“If these are only pieces,” she began as she crept toward the opening to get a better look. Wartortle was right behind her. Once they were close enough to see the hail collecting in the snow, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Swinee.

The hailstones were massive. Wartortle would be hard-pressed to hold more than one of them in his claws. Each was a veritable rock of pure ice.

“Forget what I said,” Swinee cried as they retreated back from the storm of hail and snow. “No one is lucky to be around here today.”

When the moaning of the wind crescendoed, the wintry sting of the cold outside reached many feet into the tunnel. If it was cold even as far back as Wartortle was standing, he shuddered to think of the poor Pokémon outside. Not to mention the danger of the hailstones. The ones with a Type that was weak to Ice would especially suffer.

Types. A severe storm coming on with extreme suddenness. The boost. No. No, it can't be true.

A bitter cold unrelated to the weather chilled Wartortle through and through. He turned entirely to face Swinee and looked down at her with dread. The storm was forgotten. A non-issue. A passing side effect of a permanent and far more sinister condition.

Is it going to happen again? Has it already happened?

“Swinee,” he said. “Use one of your Ice-type techniques please.”

“What? I can't hear you over the wind!” she shouted.

“Use an Ice technique!” he yelled, allowing the rising fear he felt to empower his voice. “And point it outside!”

Swinee's nose twitched. She seemed on the verge of asking the purpose of Wartortle's request. Then her body shook in what he guessed was the equivalent of a shrug. She faced up the slope to the mouth of the tunnel and her nostrils flared with a full inhalation.

A second's lull.

A blast of icy wind screamed through the tunnel and out into the storm. The wind outside was a calm breeze next to the gale Swinee generated. Every ice shard on the floor was ejected from the force. The snow accumulating at the tunnel mouth was pulverized into a fine powder that vanished into the storm. A heavy layer of frost coated the tunnel walls instantaneously. If the air itself could have frozen, Wartortle was sure it would have. He trembled as the modest body heat surrounding him was stripped from his body and consumed by Swinee's technique. More by bodily reflex than by volition, he stumbled backward to escape the draining cold. Other than during the nightmare he'd had during his first walk through Weird Wood, this was the first cold as a Pokémon that Wartortle found unbearable. And he hadn't even been hit by the technique.

Swinee's hairy coat appeared to stiffen as the hairs raised up. She stood stock-still, looking at her handiwork. The small puffs of breath from her nose were visible in the area of sub-freezing temperatures she'd created. The effect faded as the air from deeper in Cavetown warmed up the tunnel once more. The frost coating every surface remained.

She backed away from the tunnel mouth and the moaning wind. Away from the frosty walls. Slowly, she turned to look at Wartortle.

“What does this mean?”

A hundred answers came to mind, but Swinee would be hearing none of them. He'd been in this situation before. This exact situation. A Pokémon discovering their new power. The Pokémon experimenting with it. The Pokémon attacking his defenseless friend while he watched, before repeating the fell deed on him.

Wartortle backed down the tunnel while keeping his eyes on the Swinub. When the curve of the tunnel hid him from her view, he turned and sprinted away.

Then the screaming began.


	33. Order

“It's Ice now! The Freezers are all-powerful! We're doomed, Cavetown's doomed!”

Wartortle cut in front of the Charmeleon yelling hysterically as he ran willy-nilly through Cavetown's tunnel network. Because he'd been paying no attention to how he'd ended up at Swinee's exit tunnel, he accordingly had no idea how to get back to Team Base. His eyes scanned the tunnel intersections and walls for the posted signs with picture directions.

Every Pokémon he passed was either on edge or in full-blown panic mode. News of the Ice boost had spread rapidly. Wartortle was surprised that other Pokémon had noticed it so soon. What was more likely, he reasoned, was that he'd noticed it late. The boost might have commenced as the storm clouds began to form. At any rate, Cavetown might soon be the battleground for a civil war. Wartortle could not recall seeing many Ice-types during his time in Cavetown but he would not consider himself proficient at identifying Type on sight. Even a handful of Ice-type Pokémon would have no trouble against thirty times their number in all-out brawl.

He passed through a larger cavern, a workout room. Bags of sand lay on the ground or hung from ropes. Solid disks and balls of rock with differing numbers of notches marked on their surface rested in racks or against walls. Other equipment that Wartortle did not understand was present, too, but all was untouched at the moment. The multitude of Pokémon in the cavern glanced at each other uncertainly, and at Wartortle as he ran through.

“Hey, Wartortle, is the Ice thing true?” said some high-pitched voice behind him as he ran.

“It's true!” was all he had time to say over his shell-back as he continued without stopping. Ahead, a Larvitar was talking to a pair of Geodude with an impatient tone.

“No, she said that Freezers are like Zappers now.” All three turned to look at the nearby Snover, who looked down at itself curiously in turn. Even to Wartortle, it was an obviously an Ice-type. He passed them by and left the cavern. As he did, exclamations of surprise and fright followed him from within.

I need to find Quil and the rest. That's my priority. We know how each other fight. We're experienced at battling Pokémon with boosted moves in their arsenal. If I can find them, I'll be safe. Relatively. We'll go from there.

The Pokémon Wartortle passed were now running more often than not. Running to wherever they felt safe. Probably the Habitation Caverns, or some hidden nook that they believed only they knew about. He would have hated to be a refugee first arriving in Cavetown when this happened. Cavetown was supposed to be a safe haven amidst chaos. Twice, he spotted battles raging within the tunnels. What he believed to be Ice-type species were involved in both instances. These were not friendly contests. These were Pokémon attempting to subdue each other by force.

At last, he encountered one of the Smeargle-signs depicting the crossed-out lightning bolt. The arrow pointed him down a tunnel that he distinctly recognized. Before he'd arrived at Team Base proper, he bumped into the rest of the Resistance. Peroo, Loria, Bein, Viper, Hayzin, and Quil. Four of them began talking at once to make an unintelligible jumble of words. Wartortle thought he got the gist of what was being asked.

“Yes, it's true, I witnessed it myself in a Swinub. Ice-types look to be as strong as Electric-types now.”

“No!” Quil and Peroo cried together. Bein thwacked his bone against the ground. Hayzin stamped a hoof.

“How do we help?” Bein asked simply, prompting a shower of hopeful scrutiny directed at Wartortle. He frowned and was about to object to all of them placing their faith in his ideas, when a small voice spoke in his head.

Now's not the time.

“For now, our own safety is paramount. We can't help anyone if we rush into a battle against an Ice Pokémon only to be knocked out or frozen solid. That being said, I suppose we can try to keep the peace as long as we're extremely cautious.”

Viper's head bobbed about as she said, “So we take down any 'mon that's battling, and the battles stop, easy!”

“No,” Wartortle said pointedly. “Fighting in order to stop the fighting would only add to the chaos. I suggest we try to break up the battles we see. I imagine most of them are either Ice-types defending themselves, or Pokémon preemptively attacking any Ice-type they see. I know a lot of Cavetowners still assume that a boosted Electric-type is a crazy Electric-type. They'll think the same of Ice-types now.”

“Halt the battles,” said Loria. “End the fighting before the winner emerges. That is your intent?” While her tone didn't suggest that the concept of breaking up a fight was unknown to her, it was evidently a foreign one. The others looked to be grappling with the idea and its usefulness as well.

“Of course if we come upon an Ice-type who really is crazy, attacking for no discernible reason, feel free to bring them down,” Wartortle clarified. It didn't help. “Does anyone have any other ideas on how to help?”

“We don't know what has caused this new boost,” Hayzin said. “Nor can we reverse it. I believe that attempting to 'keep the peace', as you called it, may be our best option.”

“You could show us exactly what you mean with your plan, Wartortle,” said Quil with enthusiasm. For having been utterly destroyed the day of the previous boost, Quil was remarkably chipper about the crisis.

No one had any further input. They all stood by, ready to assist. Wartortle double-checked his reasoning. By his estimate, this truly was the most sensible thing to do. Yet he'd left Team Base to work up the courage to quit this exact role. Leading others. Fighting the ill effects of the boost - now boosts. He looked around helplessly.

“You know that my plans can and have failed, right? You realize that stopping the fighting could be the wrong decision?”

“Don't go spangled on us now Wartortle!” said Viper with irritation. She hadn't seen this side of him after Karprest. “If this is the best idea we've got, let's go. Now is the best time!”

“You attack first,” Loria put in.

In his frustration, Wartortle whirled on her. “No, no one is attacking--”

“It's a saying,” Quil cut in with a voice that sounded embarrassed on his behalf.

Wartortle probably would have felt warmth rising into his face, if he wasn't already feeling a bit hot-headed from the crisis in Cavetown and his own personal dilemma. “Right, I knew that one. I forgot. If this is how it has to be, I'll do my best.”

Coincidentally, the first battle they encountered was the Larvitar and one of the Geodude battling the Snover. More accurately, it was the Snover dodging their attacks and trying to flee. Wartortle confronted first the Larvitar. He kept pace with it as it chased the Snover and executed its techniques. All the while, he urged it to stop while maintaining a tranquil demeanor. At first the Larvitar seemed confused by the Wartortle that kept talking in its face when a battle was happening. Next it became distracted, its attacks half-hearted. Finally it seemed to hear what Wartortle was saying. The Larvitar stopped attacking.

“That Snover is not our enemy,” he stated plainly, before moving onto the Geodude. If the Snover retaliated with an Ice technique now that the Larvitar had laid off the offensive, Wartortle might be caught up in it. He was playing a dangerous game.

The same tactic worked with the Geodude. He spoke to the Snover last, who explained that her fellow Pokémon had turned on her after she tried out the potency of some move she called 'Powder Snow'. As Wartortle had predicted, this Ice-type had only been defending herself. Fortunately for the Geodude and Larvitar, she'd stuck to evasion instead of requiting with Ice.

For the following hour, the members of the Resistance patrolled the tunnels and chambers of Cavetown. Every step, Wartortle tried to project an aura of assertive calm with his body language and tone of voice. He soon saw his companions following suit. Whenever they came upon a battle, they repeated Wartortle's pacifying technique. It worked better on some Pokémon than others. Sometimes the battles ended via pacifism, other times by a failed attempt that allowed the battles to take their course. Either way, the battles ultimately ended.

Ice techniques were definitely not entirely absent. The most common one employed was the same one that Swinee had used, which caused a rush of gale winds that instantly chilled the affected area. No matter how far Wartortle was standing from the technique when it was used, he could always feel the heat being sucked from his body to a some degree. The new power of the Ice-types was not as flashy or loud as the Electric-types, but it was equally frightening. Wartortle shuddered when he thought of being enveloped in those icy winds head on. The others of the Resistance were not immune to such thoughts either. He saw the way they looked at the Ice techniques in action.

The work was as rewarding as it was risky. Early on in their effort, Bein suggested he serve as a rear guard in case a panicked or angry Ice-type ran into them from behind. Wartortle enforced a slow pace from his position at the front for caution's sake. He wouldn't be responsible for leading them all into the midst of a raging battle that they'd not noticed until it was too late. After a close call with a Piloswine, Swinub's evolution, all of them agreed it would be prudent to immediately knock out any Ice-type that caught them by surprise, just in case. The prudence turned out to be unnecessary in the end.

The pandemonium of Cavetown settled into a tense ceasefire after the hour or so of work. Wartortle was proud to say that his plan had probably stopped the battling far sooner than it would have otherwise lasted. Judging by the reduced traffic in the thoroughfares of Cavetown, Hayzin suggested that some of its inhabitants either were hiding or had fled the town entirely.

“Oh, no one could have left,” Wartortle said. “Let me show you the storm.”

To his surprise, the climate outside the main entrance was now tame. The wind had died down to a steady breeze. The sky was overcast but free of any falling snow. The extreme cold had gone, leaving a nip in the air. Had Wartortle not seen the storm with his own eyes, he might have believed the reported severity to be exaggerated if it weren't for the foot of snow and hailstones blanketing the ground. The monotonous gray of the landscape outside Cavetown had been utterly transformed into pristine white. Not a single print marred the snow. No one had left Cavetown after all, unless they had levitated or flown.

As was to be expected, many of the Pokémon they passed in Cavetown asked them what exactly was happening and what they should do. Wartortle allowed Quil to answer with his own judgment, who told everyone to relax and wait until the Resistance spoke about the crisis later that day in the commons. Together, the seven of them retired to Team Base. Viper shooed out the small crowd that had already gathered so they could speak in private.

“Sealing off this cave and putting a door next chance I have,” Bein muttered.

Each of them appeared wrapped in his or her own thoughts for a minute as they enjoyed the peace, Wartortle included. Viper soon posed the question that was on his mind.

“Now what?”

Wartortle deliberately leaned back where he sat on the bench to 'admire' the glowing fungi along the cave's ceiling. Leading discussions when he was trying to leave the Resistance was a poor move. Someone else would have to get the ball rolling. Quil rose to the challenge.

“Why don't we review everything we know?”

“Easy,” said Bein. “Freezers boosted. Going to be twice as many requests for help.”

“Not necessarily,” Hayzin said. “In my travels years ago, I noticed that some Types are far more common than others. I neither met nor battled many Freezers back then. I believe it is a rarer Type to have.”

Loria raised a forepaw. “Nonetheless, all bow to Ice. Cold is undeniable.”

“You mean no Type is immune to Ice?” Wartortle asked. She nodded with her eyes steady on his.

Quil's voice revealed his distress. “Even though Freezers aren't common, no Type will be able to help us like Bein does against Zappers. This is even worse than the first boost!”

Bein tapped his bone against his skull helmet thoughtfully. “Are Zappers even still boosted?” He glanced at Hayzin.

“Hm. I don't feel any different. Shall we answer your question ourselves, Bein? Everyone please stay far back.”

Wartortle's gut wanted to raise an objection, but the information would be valuable. Bein would neutralize the technique regardless of how potent Electric techniques now were, so he had no cause to worry. He joined everyone else in retreating partway down the tunnel.

Even though it was Hayzin using the move, his claws still clenched as electricity began to crackle in the Zebstrika's mane. The dreaded hum filled the cavern. The gathered electricity shone with a yellow light. Hayzin reared up onto his hind legs and a bright bolt of electricity jumped between him and Bein. The bolt was yellow with a blinding white core. The crack as the electricity split the air was deafening in the close confines of the cave and tunnel.

The light and sound only lasted a split second, since the instant the bolt met Bein's skin, they ceased. No echo and no residual electricity, as usual. Nevertheless, the intensity of the bolt while it had lasted was most assuredly still at a boosted level.

“Still 'supercharged', as Wartortle might say,” said Hayzin with amusement. Juxtaposed against the crackling of his electricity, his voice sounded weak and distant. Bein grunted his agreement with the assessment as everyone filed back in.

Peroo sounded dubious. “Right, but is it just the same, do you think? Is every Freezer boosted right up to the same plateau as the Zappers? Is this one going to last forever too?”

“I don't know, no one knows,” said Viper. She'd taken to circling the table in the middle of the room. “You'll sure find out if you keep those lookers wide open!”

“Already I see a pattern,” declared Loria as her eyes roamed the others for confirmation or agreement. None was forthcoming. She explained further only after a few seconds of expectant silence. “The beginnings of a beautiful journey. Electric. Ice. The other Types will follow one by one. The ripples of a stone sent skipping atop the sea of all Pokémon.”

Wartortle considered the hypothesis she had put forth with such certainty. Only two of the many Types had been affected thus far. Viewing that as the start of a huge pattern was perhaps premature. Why not though? No other rhyme or reason had been discovered for the boosts, so it was easy to suppose that every Type would soon meet the same fate.

If he recalled correctly, eighteen Pokémon Types had been classified. Wartortle had awoken on the first boost day sixteen days ago, if he hadn't miscounted. That meant at the current rate it would take...between eight and nine months until every Pokémon was boosted. That period of time would be rampant with chaos and exploitation as certain Pokémon far outstripped others in battling capability. One day, however, all would be equal again, if on an entirely higher level. He shared his thoughts with the others.

Hayzin looked sternly at him across the table. “All will be resolved within a year, so you are implying we should do nothing?”

“I can't let all the Pokémon around me suffer when I can help, for even a month,” Quil said.

“Pattern might be wrong,” Bein added. “Ice could be last. Or the next Type is, or the one after. Boosts might fade away too.”

“Alright, fair points,” Wartortle conceded. “We still don't know enough, and even if Loria is correct, we can't twiddle our thumbs.”

At the same time, Viper and Peroo said, “What's twiddle mean?”

Wartortle winced. I've got to watch it. They might still think I'm from Steady Steppe like Quil, but not for long if I keep acting and talking differently than any other Pokémon.

“I mean, we should keep up our Resistance effort instead of doing nothing.” He wracked his mind for a suitable distractor. “Does anyone know which Types perform well against Ice, and which do poorly?”

“Fire is strong!” Quil said.

“The blows of a Fighter like myself as well,” Loria added.

“Good to know, though I bet there are more, right?” Wartortle asked. “We should consider interviewing an Ice-type or two today to learn their strengths and weaknesses from the Pokémon themselves. Let's be careful around Ice-types though. If one ever wants to take over Cavetown like Stolt or Raizula did in their towns, we'll be prime targets in their way.”

Viper stopped her circling to say, “Yeesh Wartortle. That negativity right there could be an Ice move.”

No one else seemed to share her blithe attitude. The room was quiet for a moment as everyone seemed to digest the implications of Wartortle's warning. Eventually, Hayzin suggested the Resistance keep operating normally and incorporate the inevitable requests related to Ice-type Pokémon into their missions. The conversation had resulted in no change to their overall approach. With nothing further to discuss, they all headed over to the commons to support Quil as he gave another brief speech to update the Cavetowners.

A blend of anxiety and shame churned within Wartortle all the way through Quil's address. He'd thought it over and made a definite decision to leave the Resistance, but now the game had changed. Exactly how much remained to be seen. The problems plaguing the lands would definitely worsen at any rate. The Resistance needed all the help it could get, now more than ever. And this was when he'd chosen to leave? Would he even have the courage to announce his departure to the others?

Wartortle promised to meet them later for the request selections with the excuse that he needed some time alone to think about the new development. While walking toward one of the commons' pools of water, he noticed a Glaceon and a Jolteon conversing near one of the cavern's walls. The dangerous duo had attracted the attention of other 'mon as well. The two Eevee evolutions paid the looks no mind. After a minute, they set off together deeper into the cavern's depths.

The luminous waters of the pool called to him. His experience in the water might be new and exciting now that he'd evolved from a Squirtle, but if he jumped in he'd lose sight of the Glaceon and Jolteon. Seeing an Electric-type other than Hayzin out and about in Cavetown was rare enough to hold his attention. Wartortle imagined the Jolteon was feeling less discrimination with the spotlight on the Ice-types. The sight of an Ice-type and Electric-type together like that had the gears whirring in his head. If the Glaceon focused on knocking out any Ground-types, and the Jolteon dealt with everyone else, they could become nigh on unbeatable. No Type had a solid advantage against such a duo to his knowledge.

These two seemed harmless enough. The Jolteon laughed at what the Glaceon was saying and batted at it with a paw. Their attention was on each other, not on the other occupants of the commons. Both seemed completely at ease. When they'd reached the dimmer reaches of the humongous cavern, where no other Pokémon could be found within at least two hundred feet, they drew apart and halted. The Glaceon faced the Jolteon as it settled down into a battle-ready crouch.

Oh. A friendly battle. That's all it is. Not a secret conference for plotting the downfall of Cavetown.

Wartortle was not the only Pokémon still watching while the two faced off. When the first Electric technique lit up the expanse of the cavern, even more heads turn to spectate the battle. The splitting crack of electricity resounded through the entire commons. The light of the electrical energy drove back even the deepest darkness of the stalactite-riddled ceiling. Wartortle hardly thought about the backpedaling he was doing. The first Ice technique from the Glaceon sounded deceptively delicate. A series of crystalline tinkles and reports from rapidly-forming ice crystals. The rocky floor from which the Jolteon had dodged was slicked with sparkling frost. A moment later, Wartortle felt the air on his skin cool slightly despite his distance from the Glaceon.

The Jolteon and Glaceon did not appear to be fighting with the intent of knocking out their opponent as quickly as possible. Neither did their expressions or body language suggest that one was toying with the other. No, the boosted Pokémon were exploring their abilities. Giving plenty of warning before each technique to allow the other to dodge. Building their techniques to their maximum potential before sending them onto the battlefield. A side-effect of that battling style was that it drew attention. The battle was like a show. Spectacular effects. Grandiose movements. A display of incredible power. Wartortle could not look away.

The extraordinary battle continued. Wartortle's mind wandered as he rested his gaze on the distant eye candy. He idly compared the similarities and differences of the two Eevee evolutions. The Jolteon's fur reminded him of Quil's flames. Spiky, jagged. Like a lightning bolt flashing for a mere instant through the sky. The fur might even be rigid, though he'd never had the opportunity to touch a Jolteon before. By contrast, the Glaceon's form was more graceful. Long dangles from its head and a tail like a streamer. The tail was so flat that he could picture it fluttering in the wind.

The very beginnings of an idea began to show its light in Wartortle's mind, like the first rays of the dawn. The Glaceon leaped into the air to perfectly avoid the Jolteon when it charged forward with electricity jumping between its jaws. Wartortle pictured the other evolutionary paths of Eevee. He could easily see all of them in his mind's eye, as they'd been instilled in him at an early age as a method for educating students of the Pokémon Types. Everyone loved the Eevee species and its evolutions, especially children. He could see each one of them on the battlefield in the distance. The suave darkness of Umbreon. The fins and frills of Vaporeon. The billowy fur of Flareon.

The idea had crested the horizon, now. The sun was not fully visible but its light was seeping into the sky, banishing the darkness and all its mystery. Imagining more than the two lone combatants on the battlefield felt right to Wartortle. The Flareon in particular fit right in, though he couldn't say why. The Fire-type matched the Ice-type and Electric-type on some level that eluded him. They made a fitting trio. The Glaceon's head swung back and a small gale of icy wind slammed against the shadowy ceiling with a resounding BOOM. The stalactites along the way were coated with scintillating frost crystals. Truly, these two Pokémon wielded legendary power.

He refused to blink. His eyes flicked between the Glaceon and Jolteon with increasing fervor. He added the illusory Flareon into the mix, imagining it raising pillars of flame with ease. A revelation was coming. A big one. Something about the jagged, yellow coat the Jolteon wore, along with the black accent of its ears. The icy crest on the Glaceon's forehead, too. Its flattened dangles and tail, lightly waving in a breeze. And the Flareon's mane. Its tail. The edges of the fur like the edges of a flame, always renewing into new shapes. Disheveled but passionate. Like fire in the wind.

The sun had risen.

Wartortle's mind filled with light. A distinct chill tickled his spine from the base of his skull all the way to the tip of his tail. He shook with the force of it, helpless as a branch's leaf rattled by the almighty wind.

He was right. All those days ago when he'd said that Legendary Pokémon had caused the storm, Quil had dismissed the idea from discussion with a fit of giggles. But Wartortle had been correct. He'd been right all along.

“I know what's causing the boosts,” he murmured to himself. Testing the words. Daring to believe in them.

Electric. Ice. Next was Fire. The trio would be complete. The third boost would be the final one. The curious floating Pokémon with the orange 'V' atop its head had asked Wartortle for the whereabouts of the third and final Legendary of the trio. That was a crucial hint.

“I know what's causing the boosts,” he repeated. A nearby Ralts turned its head toward him. A Buneary's ears flicked upright.

No other Legendaries that Wartortle knew of were associated with electricity, ice, and fire. Only one grouping made sense. Only three specific Legendaries fit the bill. They had to exist outside of fanciful stories. They had to be real. The explanation was too perfect.

“I know what's causing the boosts!” he shouted. All of the Pokémon around Wartortle stiffened and turned from the battle to direct their attention at him. Incredulous expressions became hopeful when they saw who had spoken. With manic energy, he dashed toward the entrance to the commons. A trail of stunned Pokémon stood in his wake.

Wartortle did not look back to see who had won between the Glaceon and Jolteon. The outcome of the little duel was unimportant in the scheme of things. Sure, they commanded terrifying power.

But the Legendary Birds were the source.


	34. Faith

“The Legendary Birds are the source, I'm telling you! Zapdos and Articuno have already done their part. Moltres will be next.”

Wartortle's plate of food was untouched. Until he got through to the others around the table, he refused to relax enough to dig in. Quil was avoiding the conversation by taking more bites from his sandwich when his mouth was still mostly full. Viper had the audacity to openly laugh at Wartortle's staunch faith in his idea. Loria seemed politely interested in what he was saying, but certainly unexcited. She didn't believe him either.

Peroo, Bein, or Hayzin might have been on Wartortle's side, but he'd been unable to immediately find them. Following Quil's last speech in the commons, they'd all dispersed. His idea needed to be shared; it'd been fit to burst out of him. He'd settled for the first Pokémon he could find: Quil, Viper, and Loria.

“Fire is as Fire was,” Loria said as if that completely debunked Wartortle's theory.

“Someone mentioned Moltres to me a few days ago, which is the only missing piece of...” He trailed off. That wasn't convincing at all. “Look, I know what we have isn't solid evidence. It's incomplete. It's two isolated data points. What else could be the source of the boosts though? There are no other groupings of Legendary Pokémon I can bring to mind that are associated with the Electric, Ice, and Fire types.”

“Tricky question Wartortle, but I have the answer,” said Viper with a grin in her voice. “Maybe the source of the boosts isn't three 'mon that don't exist?”

“When he spawns an inferno with a single breath,” Loria said while pointing at Quil, “I will share your confidence.”

Wartortle squeezed the edge of the table. “That doesn't answer my question. If I'm wrong, what's causing the boosts? Hm?”

Loria did not reply. Quil kept chewing away on his sandwich. If Wartortle didn't know Quil any better, he'd guess that his friend was feeling embarrassed. He knew that Quil was too thoughtful and considerate to deride Wartortle's idea though. The Pokémon around the table lapsed into silence.

“What does it matter?” Viper finally said, with overblown indifference. “I'll fight the opponent that's in front of me instead of bligging my time by wondering why I'm battling!”

Wartortle shook his head. He was angry at the reception he'd received when he was so sure of himself. Couldn't they see that if he was correct, the Resistance was trivial? Its efforts were akin to plucking the leaves off a tree, when they had the option to chop the whole tree down and be done with it. He scarfed down his food while planning his next move.

“I'm going to ask around Cavetown about where to find the Legendary Birds,” he said, rolling out of his seat. He almost spitefully added, 'Don't be surprised if I don't make it back to the base in time to pick the next requests,' but he knew he really should make an effort to be there.

“See you later,” Quil said. His first words of the meal. The other two advised him to fight well. Loria's words sounded honest, but Viper's had a disparaging tone.

Asking the Pokémon in Cavetown about the Legendaries proved to be an exercise in character-building. After the first few outbursts of laughter and expressions of incredulity, Wartortle began dreading his task. They looked at him like he was crazy. Had he been Just Another Refugee, they doubtless would have called him crazy, too. He could hear his credibility draining away with every Pokémon he spoke with. His respectability, his trustworthiness, evaporating.

Yet the deed had to be done. If he could locate one of the Legendary Birds, then the cause of the boost could be determined. If the cause was determined, the boosts could possibly be terminated. Life as a Pokémon would return to normal. His struggle would be worth it. This was the final, ultimate solution. He'd probably look back on the embarrassment of asking around with nostalgia, proud that he'd made the small sacrifice of his dignity and reputation.

A round blue Pokémon was finally able to help him. It would have matched Bein's diminutive height if not for the wrench-shaped extrusion above its head. “I'd find Rytos the Ninetails, he can help you. No one knows more stories than him!”

Wartortle changed his inquiries from asking about the Legendaries to getting directions to Rytos. His questioning led him to a low-ceilinged cavern with rows and rows of what looked like crops. A narrow fissure let in a modest amount of sunlight from above onto some of the crops. Many of them were an albino white, while others were alien combinations of colors that could not be found on the surface. Some resembled mushrooms, others plants, and still others were unclassifiable by Wartortle. He recognized two or three of the species from his lunch plate.

A few Pokémon tended to the 'field', many of them Grass-type. He could not spot what should have been a distinctive golden-white puff of fur. Then, a Ninetails walked in from behind him with a bucket in its jaws. An earthy aroma followed.

“Rytos? Are you Rytos?”

The Ninetails set the bucket down and spoke in a voice that had seen use for many decades. “Yes, I am Rytos. And you are Wartortle.” After a quick introduction ritual, he continued. “I have followed your story since you first spoke in Cavetown beside Quil.”

Wartortle blinked. “I see. You're a storyteller, right? Do you know any stories about the three Legendary Birds?”

“Of course I do!” barked Rytos. Wartortle drew back from the Ninetails, but now he was smiling with a twinkle in his red eyes. “Which story would you like to hear? The Romancing of Delphox? The Nest in the Sky?”

Wartortle shifted uncomfortably. This was Rytos? For someone supposedly excellent at interacting with an audience, this Ninetails struck him as creepy, if not downright loony. Unfortunately this was his best lead.

“Thanks, but I don't actually want to hear a full story. Not unless it comes to that. I want to know where to find any of the three Legendary Birds. Zapdos, Articuno, or Moltres. Do you think you can help me?”

Rytos' smile faded and he lowered himself onto his haunches. The nine golden tails behind him moved up and down in the motion of a rolling wave. Wartortle wondered if Rytos was using a fighting technique, so mesmerizing were the beautiful tails.

“I typically tell hatchlings and children that should you believe strongly enough, any story can be true. I think you're past that naivete. Every story is built on a truth, but the existence, let alone the location of any of that trio is not one of those truths.”

Wartortle's hopes shriveled and fell to pieces like a rose immersed in flame. “None of your stories talk about where they live? Not a single clue?”

In a flash, Rytos was on his feet with his tails splayed out straight behind him like the rays of the sun. “Articuno, at the pinnacle of the frozen fortress! Zapdos, from the lone peak thunderstruck! And Moltres, the volcano's blazing beacon!”

“Right. Okay. Do those descriptions, er, refer to anywhere in particular?”

“Oh, Wartortle,” said Rytos shaking his head and sitting back down. “You are not the first 'mon who has come to me seeking the ones we call Legendary. There is never an explicit location. There is never a ritual that is actually possible to complete. There is never a way to find them, and there never will be. Every story I know is purposefully vague on those details. We both know why.”

Wartortle clawed at straws. “No one's ever mentioned seeing them? No one's shared any stories with you?”

Rytos' voice took on a menacing low tone that Wartortle was sure would frighten an enraptured young Pokémon. “I have heard tales. Many tales. Each from someone who was lying for one reason or another. For fame. To impress someone. As a trick. Bah!” he barked. “I tell stories when I can, but I respect my stories enough to not use them as fabrications and deceptions.”

Were the Legendary Birds really a lie? Wartortle knew from his life as a human that some Legendary Pokémon had been photographed, documented, or even captured by trainers. He'd never studied the subject in any amount of detail, so he could not say for sure if the Legendary Birds were real. As Legendaries went, the Birds were among the most plausible. They had to exist, they just had to!

“Okay, so we have a frozen fortress, a thunderstruck peak, and a volcano. The first one sounds mythical, the second one is too generic, but we should be able to work with the volcano. Those are rare, aren't they?”

Rytos sighed heavily. “Wartortle, relinquish your notion that you can find the Legendary Birds. For your own sanity. Aren't you busy enough with your Zapper-fighting team?”

Wartortle refused to explain his keen interest in the Legendary Birds. The conversation would be easier if the Ninetails believed he simply wanted to prove his strength, or whatever reason most Pokémon had for seeking out a Legendary. “I am, but please, answer my questions. You're helping our effort more than you know.”

Rytos' demeanor did an about-face. “Intrigue! Mystery! I smell the fundamentals of a thrilling story! If you're being truthful, and I sense that you are, then your questions do not arise from a foolish desire at all. Do they?”

Wartortle played the part by remaining enigmatically silent.

“Yes, volcanoes are rare,” Rytos said with perfect seriousness. “I know of only three. One is a glorified mountain far in the south that does not erupt. The second is one of the smaller peaks in Heartless Heights. Definitely not fit for the glorious Moltres. The third, of course, is famous among certain lines. Especially the Cyndaquil line. It is an active volcano with a constant lava flow, a raging beast that spews smoke and magma into the sky. Iyrodenin.”

“Iyrodenin!” Wartortle repeated in shock.

“Yes,” said Rytos knowingly. “If Moltres truly flies these skies, I can think of no greater peak for that Flame to roost than Iyrodenin. A cradle of magma and blanket of steam would make a fine nest. As for Articuno and Zapdos, the descriptions of their nesting sites are too general for me to have a hope of narrowing the possibilities. A frozen fortress? I do not know of any fortresses, let alone frozen ones. And a thunderstruck peak standing all alone? Any lone mountain would have attracted a lightning strike.”

Wartortle hummed in agreement. “Iyrodenin seems like my best bet to find one of the Legendary Birds. Moltres it will be. I'll keep an eye out for any solitary mountains and notably frozen structures though.”

Rytos' tails undulated in a discordant pattern. “Your search will be guided by fiction. Old stories passed down from a forgotten time by ancient 'mon.”

“And I'm still going to try,” Wartortle confirmed. “Thank you for the information, Rytos.”

Rytos inclined his head. “You are welcome to it, Wartortle. Fight well. On the next full moon, come by the cave below this one to hear my monthly storytelling. You place such faith in stories that I know you will appreciate the tale.”

“That sounds ni--”

“Now go!” shouted Rytos. His red eyes glowed with light. “Find the fabled Pokémon you seek!”

Wartortle did not need to be told twice. He fell backward and twisted onto all fours before scurrying out of the cave farm.

An hour later, Wartortle stood in front of the entrance to Team Base. In front of the gathered current members of the Resistance. They needed to all be there for the words he was going to say. He knew they'd picked up on his somber mood by the way they looked at him searchingly where he stood.

The time had come for him to make his announcement. He now had things to do, Pokémon to see. Preparations needed his attending. Every hour he wasted might be an hour of suffering brought on by the next boost, the Fire-type boost. He couldn't afford to linger due to sentimentality. This needed to be done now. Before he lost heart. While he still carried the momentum of the day's events.

“I'm leaving the Resistance.”

Wartortle watched each member's reaction. Loria's eyes widened. Hayzin frowned thoughtfully. Viper's fanged mouth spilled open in comical surprise. Peroo's expression grew uncomfortable, as though he shared the guilt associated with Wartortle's decision. Bein was unfathomable.

Quil's reaction was unknown to him, because he avoided looking in the Quilava's direction. If anything could make him change his mind, it was Quil. For the good of every Pokémon in the land, Wartortle needed to do this. He wouldn't be swayed. The somersaults and twinges of his stomach were tough enough to endure without seeing his friend's reaction.

“After what you said here this morning. After all that you've done.” Bein spoke in a low monotone.

“Why?” blurted Viper.

“Don't tell me...” Wartortle heard Quil say quietly.

“Yes. This is because of my Legendary Birds theory. I believe that if I can find one of them, I can determine why Electric-types and Ice-types have suddenly become immensely powerful. Then we may be able to reverse the boosts. I know it's a shot in the dark, but this chance is worth any risk. It would solve all our problems. It would fix everything that was broken. It would make the world normal again.”

“Wartortle, the Legendary Birds aren't r--” Hayzin began.

For the first time, Wartortle cut him off. He was sick of the nay-saying. Hearing it from the well-traveled and ever-reasonable Hayzin would be worst of all. “I don't want to hear it Hayzin! I'm sorry, but I don't. Pokémon all day have been laughing in my face and thinking me insane.”

Viper's bladed tail began to slowly writhe, and Loria looked down. Served them right. Wartortle kept on. “Did it ever occur to you that I know more than I let on? Do I seem like the kind of Pokémon that would favor children's stories over observation and reason?”

He grimaced, realizing that he'd let his anger and pain twist his words toward arrogance. While his words were true, he had no desire to allude to his humanity. At least now his team might be happier to let him find his own path, having spoken so contemptuously.

“This evening I will be heading north to a volcano in search of Moltres. There's no reason for me to stay any longer in Cavetown. When you begin your next mission tomorrow morning, I should be well on my way. I neither expect nor want anyone to come with me. I recognize this is a long-shot, and I won't claim otherwise. Going is an essential risk, but a risk nonetheless. Thus I hope the Resistance keeps up its great work even though I'll be gone. If the Legendary Birds really are fictitious, and I search for months in vain, the Resistance will continue to make a positive change in the lives of Pokémon far and wide. Ultimately, that's what we all want. That's why I'm going to find Moltres, but also why this Resistance was created in the first place.”

Most of them were looking at him with facial expressions that he'd been seeing all day. They looked at him as if he were a madman. As if he were delusional, but stubbornly refusing to seek help. For a moment, he submitted to their scrutiny. He questioned if he really had gone insane and lost touch with reality. But after reexamining why he thought what he did, why he was doing what he was doing, he found his confidence again. He was not crazy.

Wartortle finished his announcement with his recommendations for how certain aspects of the Resistance should proceed in his absence. He now recognized his potential to inadvertently bully those around him, so he was careful to phrase everything he said as a gentle suggestion, not a command or edict. The Resistance had begun as the brainchild of him and Quil but it had become more. The teams would be growing. Their resources would increase. This movement would no longer be able to run exactly how Wartortle wanted it, though he still believed his suggestions could send it on the right track.

“I understand that the concept of bringing and using supplies on these missions is strange, but please at least give serious thought to what supplies to bring, and how you might use them. Same for equipment like the bands. They give us the edge we always need when facing boosted Pokémon.”

Regarding request selection and team assembly, he advised them, “Take Type into account, both in our team members and our potential foes at the destination. Think about how the team members will get along, how their moves complement each other, how teamwork might manifest. I still think that keeping the teams small and thereby tackling more requests simultaneously is wise in the long run. More than ever thanks to the Ice boost. Of course it's up to you all now.”

He stopped briefly to gather his thoughts. “If you can, I recommend trying to recruit boosted Pokémon onto the teams. That will give our missions a much higher chance of success, as well as help shatter the illusion that those empowered by the boosts aren't welcome among non-boosted Pokémon.”

He had a few more select morsels of miscellaneous advice. Then he was finished. He'd said everything he'd wanted to say. Although some of them still seemed to be in shock, it did not appear that his advice had fallen on deaf ears. Even if it had, the Resistance was no longer his. It would forge its own destiny. If anyone was chiefly responsible for it now, it was Quil. And Wartortle had the utmost faith in Quil. He'd shown his inner fire both in battle and in the way he spoke to other Pokémon. He'd proven his resolve by facing his hydrophobia head-on. He'd revealed his heart of gold in a thousand ways, time and time again. Quil had the passion, the leadership, the conscientiousness, the perceptiveness, the experience. He would do well by the Resistance.

Wartortle turned to leave. Being seen weak-kneed and sappy before he departed would not leave an appropriate lasting impression.

“Thank you,” he heard Loria say with sincerity. Wartortle looked back to see her wearing a small smile.

“Yeah, thanks I guess,” added Viper. “Fight well on your trip obviously.”

“Thank you for bringing this together, along with Quil,” said Hayzin.

“Fair winds!” said Peroo.

“Hmph,” Bein grunted. “Don't slack off.”

Wartortle almost smiled at Bein's comment. He kept his ears open for the words of the Pokémon who meant the most to him. None came. Wartortle bowed his head and raised an open hand in a wave as he left Team Base and the Resistance behind.

* * *

As expected, Hayzin privately confronted him to persuade him out of his choice. Wartortle was thankful for the Zebstrika's concern as he stowed supplies into his bulging backpack at Nape's bank, but his mind could not be changed.

“Stories about the Legendary Birds are the kind of drivel I feed to Dashar and Rappard. They can be wonderful, inspiring even, but you'll achieve nothing by searching for the characters in a story!” Rarely had Hayzin sounded so frustrated.

“I know they're difficult to find. I still have to try. Who knows? They might be out in the open because of whatever's causing the boosts.”

Hayzin tried other tactics, but ultimately failed. Wartortle's heart grew heavy over the fervor of Hayzin's opposition. He felt like he was letting Hayzin down. Not only him, but all of the Resistance, and by extension all the Pokémon of Cavetown. Yet his choice had been made. Wartortle was going to follow through. It wouldn't be the first time in his life that he'd pushed the boundaries of what was believed by his peers to be impossible. Wartortle had learned at an early age that the doubt of others was often a poor reason to give up.

Next, Wartortle stopped by the carrier station where Team Equalize had departed for Karprest. Although he was unwilling to use any more of the Resistance's resources in order to hire a personal carrier to the general vicinity of Iyrodenin, a report of the route to Iyrodenin from a Flying-type would be the next best thing. Magon the Salamence was nowhere to be found, but a friendly Pidgeot provided him with directions that were both reassuring and useful. If Wartortle required a second opinion for peace of mind, he could always ask Quil. The directions passed down from Typhlosion to Cyndaquil were bound to be tried and true. Flawless. They certainly hadn't let down Quil back when he was still on his way to the volcano. However, Wartortle would not ask Quil. Talking to him any more than necessary would be painful. For both their sakes, minimizing contact would be best.

Bein was waiting for him as he left the carriers' cavern. He fell into step next to Wartortle without a word. Together they proceeded toward the diner, Wartortle's last stop. The Cubone kept pace wordlessly. Wasn't Bein going to try to talk him out of his decision?

“Are you going to stay with the Resistance?” Wartortle asked, if only to break the silence between them. “A few days ago you sounded like you were on the fence. Will you go back to digging and building around Cavetown to help with the influx of refugees?”

Bein grunted in the negative. “I'm a builder. But I see now that I can build by joining these missions too.”

“When did you change your mind?” Wartortle recalled the reluctance that Bein had displayed at joining them on missions. Even together on the road to Cavetown for the first time, Bein had refused to involve himself with the aspirations of Quil and Wartortle.

Bein's left hand fidgeted with his bone until he finally responded. “Used to hate traveling. Hated the interval between the jobs I did with my Machoke partner. Hiking. Walking just to get to the next job. Hands unoccupied. A waste of time. Wished we could have the jobs come to us. Impossible, for builders. Still wished for it.”

The Cubone's eyes grew distant though he kept perfect pace with Wartortle. “Since Blindhollow, my views are different. Traveling can be useful. A 'mon doesn't get much out of staying away from the action and just rebuilding. Like erecting a bridge after someone was already swept away. Or fixing the foundation after the collapse. When you see a chance to be proactive, you take it. That's how you do the most good. How you do the best job.”

Within his shadowed eye sockets, he glanced sidelong at Wartortle. “Even when it requires travel, distant travel. You can't stay home. Everyone has a job to do. Doesn't matter how strange your method. Or how many idiots say you're wrong.”

They'd reached the diner. The foot-traffic in and out of the tunnel was busy like every other time Wartortle had seen it. After an early dinner, he'd be able to make some good distance in the remainder of that afternoon with any luck.

“Bein,” he began. The things Bein had said were far from what he might have expected from the impassive Cubone. How could he properly show his appreciation for the support and advice? For opening up to him? For the faith that Bein had in him?

“Thank you very much.” It would have to do.

Bein grunted in the negative once again. He placed the blunt end of his bone on the scutes of Wartortle's chest and prodded ever so slightly. Then he turned tail, leaving Wartortle at the diner's entrance.

When Wartortle walked away from the serving window a few minutes later with his food, he selected a table that was far, but not too far from all of the other dining Pokémon. Finding an empty table with the ones around it also deserted was tricky thanks to how busy the diner was, but he found success. The morning's storm had certainly done a number on Cavetown's already swelling refugee population. Even with so many empty seats and spaces around him, he tried to show via his posture that he wanted no company. Fortunately, it worked. He was solitary yet surrounded by the chatter and warmth of other Pokémon. As he wanted it.

He found his feelings hard to put into words. The events of the day had been trying, but at times he'd felt relief. Certain struggles had been laid to rest while others were born. He'd come closest to the spirit of the Resistance even on the day he was leaving it. Leaving them. His mixed emotions warped the flavor of his food. This was his last proper meal before the comparably bland food he'd be munching on the road ahead. The meal served as a delicious parting gift from Cavetown, but also a bittersweet omen of the hard times to come. Wartortle ate slowly to prolong the last few bites as he tried to settle his emotions.

Despite his preparations, he still didn't feel ready for the path ahead. Despite the tumult of the day having quieted, and the issues along the way having been resolved, some matters had still not been properly addressed. Ensuring the future success of the Resistance by discussing its operation more thoroughly. Double-checking his directions to the volcano. But lingering in Cavetown any longer would be an ineffectual use of time. What truly needed to be done, had been done. His mind knew that the road to Iyrodenin was ready for him. Nothing was really holding him back. Then what was the heavy lump sitting in his chest?

He should get going. He needed to get going. The moment had arrived. He picked up his plate.

“I want to come with you. You know that, right?”

Wartortle lowered his plate back down. His other hand gripped the edge of the table with his thick claws.

I was ready to go. I really was. And you do this to me now?

Wartortle said nothing. He was not going to begin a conversation that he could not win. The best way to proceed was to get up and leave. That was what he'd decided to do, so that's what he would do. He just needed to stand up.

“You're going to Iyrodenin. You're going to Iyrodenin, and you want me to stay behind.”

The voice was coming from the other side of his shell-back. Its owner was sitting at the adjacent table and facing the other way, placing them back to back. He could tell by the feeling of a fire's warmth against his shell.

Wartortle did not turn around. “You have to stay. You're the face of the Resistance. Your passion wrote its mission statement. Under your direction, I know the Resistance will always stay on track.”

“I don't care about that. I don't care about leading the Resistance. I want to travel with you. That's what you asked me, when we talked outside Root Forest. You asked me if we could travel together. Don't you remember?”

Wartortle squeezed the table harder, saying nothing.

“I said yes. Don't you remember that?” The voice quivered, becoming choked up.

Wartortle shot to his feet. The table shook. His plate clattered, drawing the eyes of the diners. “This is more important than you or me! This is about Pokémon all over. The refugees. The broken families. The injustice, the oppression, the suffering. 'This is bigger than us,' I said after we left Blindhollow. Don't you remember that?”

He was angry. At whom, he wasn't sure. The voice behind him said no more. In the wake of the anger, a different emotion followed. One he could not bear. Wartortle stormed out of the diner without even looking at the voice's owner.

When Wartortle emerged from Cavetown into the coming evening, his first steps toward Iyrodenin were heavy. One question haunted him in the hours and days that followed.

How is it possible for me to be feeling more pain than the anguish I heard in that voice?


	35. Bond

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The endlessly repeating sound of his footfalls in the snow had long ago ceased to annoy him. The majesty of the snowy crags all around no longer filled him with awe. Every morning, the sun rose between his right-hand side and his back. Every afternoon, the sun descended between his left-hand side and his front. Northwest, he walked. Always northwest. He had no control over the natural contours of the mountain ridges that were his path, but there was always a route to get back on track.

His world was white due to the blanket of pure snow. The hailstones had melted. As a human, he was sure he would have become snow-blind. The brightness of the sunlight reflected off the snow was inescapable. At the high altitude, the unfiltered light was intense. As a Water-type Pokémon, his eyes remained moist and unagitated. The cold from his barefooted steps in the snow were similarly insufficient to bother him. Within the hollow he dug in the snow nightly, he slumbered adequately if not snugly. His days in the mountains were tolerable, even comfortable at times. Had the cold of the Ice-boosting storm persisted, it might have been a different story, but the numbingly icy winds were but a memory.

The first day was simultaneously the easiest and the hardest. The memories were still tangible things that he could reach out and pull into his awareness, overlaying the canvas of endless white snow. He could forget his solitude. Yet the pain was also fresh. The wounds of his departure had not begun to heal. On that first day, when the shape of the slopes permitted, the northernmost reaches of Weird Wood were visible. The boughs of the dark pines had been coated with white like the rest of the scenery, but Wartortle knew what lay beneath that dainty exterior.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

On the second day, he caught glimpses of a valley nestled among the towering peaks to the east. Cradle Vale. The location and description matched what he knew. Spots of color peeked out of the snow even from his distant vantage point. Shrubs? Flower petals? Or more exotic vegetation like mosses, lichens? No way to know without an unnecessary detour. Every chance he got, he scanned the valley for signs of the tall rock formations that would mark Needleloft. Where Team Recover had confronted the Dedenne and saved the evolution ceremony. He never spotted the rocks.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

On the third day, the only scenery was the mountain range that surrounded him. These peaks were the tallest yet. Possibly the tallest he would ever encounter. When his path brought him near the summit of the colossal mountain he was currently traversing, he elected to deviate slightly from the optimum route. Half an hour of amateur rock climbing took him to the very peak of the snowy mountain. The chilling wind moaning in his ears was the only sound. He pushed his tail against the rock beneath the snow and lifted his body into the air. There, balancing on the tip of the tallest mountain, he could see he was the highest point for at least fifty miles. If this was the largest mountain range in the land, and he suspected it was, then he was the highest point for who knew how far.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

On the fourth day, he realized that the effort of his breathing had become marginally easier. The thin air of the high altitude had evidently been affecting him previously, but not enough to slow his pace. The elevation of the peaks he passed reached, overall, lower and lower heights. They each still remained gigantic to him, as a small Pokémon that could boast only three feet of height. Nonetheless he was descending every now and again. With that knowledge he knew he'd entered the portion of the mountain range called Snowcap Crags. The blanket of snow in the lower altitudes had begun to grow spotty in places, but the name was still accurate. Every peak was cold enough to preserve the snowfall of the storm.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

On the fifth day, he set a new record for fewest battles fought. The sole combatant of the day was a Flying-type coated with metal, marking it as a dual-Typer. Steely gray wings, plates around the base of its neck, silvery skin instead of feathers, talons of solid steel – all was metal. Though he could not recall the name of the species, it was certainly a welcome change from the multitude of Rock-type and Ground-type Pokémon he'd been encountering. Amazingly, Normal-types and even Fairy-types had been more common than Ice-types despite the snowy and cold environs. Hayzin had been on point with his belief that Ice-types were highly uncommon.

The battle with the Flying and Steel-type Pokémon went as well as the majority of his previous battles on the journey thus far. It was very close. He had to pull out all of the stops in order to scrape by with a victory, which was a welcome change from the pushover battles resulting from traveling in a large team. Now he had to be predicting incoming techniques for a chance at dodging them in order to win. Utilizing the cover and height differentials in his environment. Smart choices and timing for his techniques. Most importantly, making the moves forceful but accurate.

The temptation to allow his fighting spirit to consume him completely during a battle was as strong as ever. With his new body, he found delight in testing his abilities and physical limits. The moment that he lost his mind in a battle though, he knew he would probably lose. If he weren't losing already. He'd seen enough of the way Pokémon fought to know that it was sub-optimal for winning. Throwing out powerful techniques one after the other was a methodology, or lack thereof, that eliminated finesse and strategy in place of brute force. Sometimes it was what the battle called for. Most of the time, it was not. That was where his reasoning mind would shine. That was where he found the advantages that let him defeat tougher, stronger Pokémon. Finding patterns in the enemy's offensive and reacting intelligently to them. For example, using Bubble to keep an enemy at bay that favored close-quarters physical strikes.

Even so, losing some battles was inevitable. He absolutely refused to use any supplies from his backpack for a wild Pokémon battle, as he'd need them for the trials ahead. On the occasion of a loss, he would back off as protocol mandated and take an alternate, longer route. To return was to be beaten up once again and have his journey delayed even further. He knew that now from experience. On his second day, he'd been literally thrown off the mountain after encountering a Pancham for the second time. The Pokémon had shook with mirth as it watched him tumble and bounce down the mountainside. He'd been tired out by the ordeal, but of course nothing was broken when he came to rest near the bottom. He began the long trudge back up to the ridge, wishing he could see what new scars might be found on his shell.

By his quick thinking, he'd immediately spun the backpack over to his belly side during the fall so he could shelter it with his limbs and take the blows on his shell-back. Thankfully nothing within was damaged. From that point on, he wore the backpack on his belly side with the straps wrapping around his back. That way, he could utilize the harder part of his shell as a weapon or shield without fear of harming the backpack's delicate contents. The thought of the backpack being more precious and fragile than his own body was a humorous inversion from his past life that put a smile on his face for some time.

On the two occasions when he came upon an Ice-type, he fled. Immediately. Defeating one in a duel would prove nothing. Losing half a day or more to a sluggish recovery and rewarming of his body was not a risk he had any intention of taking. He consoled his mildly wounded pride by telling himself that he'd show them all who was boss once he solved the boost problem.

Completely by accident, he discovered an excellent way to escape his foe while he was running from a Froslass. A misplaced foot into a small cavity hidden by the snow tripped him up. After landing on his shell-back, the worst position to be in, he found himself sliding down from the mountain ridge faster and faster. The smooth surface of his shell acted as a personal sled. After the Froslass had been left far behind, he lowered his tail so the tip caught the snow, catapulting him end over end until he face-planted further down the slope. While embarrassing and a bit terrifying, he could not deny how effective the escape had been. Nor how fun. Then he was back on his feet, taking a more roundabout route toward his goal.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

On the sixth day, he spotted the next major landmark. The directions had been essential thus far in keeping him on track to Iyrodenin. A conspicuous cave mouth high up a cliffside on the second day. A trickling stream he had to keep on his left on the fourth day. No doubt it emptied into the Karp river on the western side of the mountain range, far from his position. Now, on the sixth day, a waterfall was in sight. Origin Falls. It marked the point at which he needed to bear northeast instead of northwest, as well as a sure indicator that he was getting close to the volcano. While the waterfall was higher up the mountain than he needed to go, he was compelled to take a closer look. If by a one in a thousand chance the water came from a hot spring, the short ascent would be well worth it.

The waterfall dropped into a lovely pool of aquamarine waters. Quiet runnels of water leaked over the edge to drain away into a meandering southward flow. He wondered if the Karp River originated from this very pool as opposed to any of the other waterways in Snowcap Crags. He dipped a foot into the water. Cold. Yet water was water no matter the temperature, and he yearned to explore any excitement the pool's depths had to offer.

In the end, he spent more than thirty minutes in the turbid water. The clarity of mind granted to him was wonderful as always, even though he had no conundrum to ponder. He'd had time enough to think in the serene atmosphere of the mountain ridges and cliffside paths. The bottom of the waterfall pool was surprisingly deep. Most of it was solid rock as opposed to pebbles or mud. Its curves and dips, in combination with the low visibility of the water, made the underwater terrain seem larger and more thrilling than it would have otherwise been.

At last he came up for air. The water had rejuvenated him in mind and body. He felt ready to spend the rest of the day hiking toward Iyrodenin. The sight of a Pokémon at the pool's edge stopped him from launching out to retrieve his backpack and contine the march.

Three feet tall when standing on hind legs. Short fur of dark blue and creamy white. Mohawk of fire.

No doubt about it. The Pokémon was Quil. In the flesh. Standing at Origin Falls, over a hundred miles from Cavetown, somehow. Question upon question rose in his mind like the bubbles of a giggle underwater. He ignored them all in favor of a disbelieving laugh, and a shout that came out more as a croak.

“Quil!”

In a flash he was hugging his friend, his face buried in fur. Quil wriggled in his grasp, but he didn't let go until the Quilava yelped out an explanation.

“Hey, get off Wartortle! Please, you're dripping wet!”

Wartortle pulled away with dismay at the wet fur he saw in Quil's coat, though he couldn't lose the grin on his face. Quil was here! Quil had come! How and why were irrelevant. Simply hearing his name again from Quil's lips brought him joy. He realized he hadn't spoken or been spoken to in a week, other than the wordless vocalizations of battle. When he spoke, his voice was extra gurgly from disuse. Quil's was hoarse too.

“Quil, I can't believe you're here!” All he could do was grin up at his friend. Quil was smiling too, albeit hesitantly.

“Aren't you mad at me? I left Cavetown. I left the Resistance.”

Wartortle tried to rally his emotions. Yes, he should be angry. He would have been angry had he found out in a way other than Quil appearing before him. “I think I am angry. Or I will be. Right now, I'm happy you're here to be honest. In case you couldn't tell.”

Quil chuckled, and led them farther away from the dull roar of the waterfall to better hear one another. “I could tell, actually. I wanted to be happy too, but I was worried about your reaction. Even after almost a week has gone by. I thought you always considered 'logic and reason' and whatever first, but...” He shook his head. “I'm glad that you're happy to see me!”

“Time enough for that later.” Wartortle slipped on the backpack. “I want to cover much more ground today. Are...” He hesitated. His reunion with Quil might not have been caused by Quil's desire to travel with him. His friend might have sought him out on business, so to speak. If he asked the question, the answer might bring his elation to a screeching halt.

It took a moment for Wartortle to work up the courage to ask. “Are you coming with me?”

Even though the fashion of Quil's reply marked it as rehearsed, Wartortle was no less touched than if it had been spontaneous. “Not too long ago, I was a Cyndaquil carrying a heavy burden. I was stressed, anxious, and alone. You were a Squirtle who didn't even know how to Tackle. You had all the questions and none of the answers. Back then, before the Resistance, before we started helping other Pokémon, we supported each other. We were partners. That was all. Two unevolved traveling Pokémon.”

“Now the world's more complicated. There are two boosts, and our big organization trying to keep 'mon in balance. My Pilgrimage is pointless since I'm a Quilava. You're looking for 'mon straight out of legend. Nothing is simple anymore. That's why you can't go alone. You can't try to do this by yourself.”

“Quil,” Wartortle began but the Quilava held up a forepaw, determined to finish what he wanted to say.

“But more importantly, even once things got complicated, you still always watched out for me. You watched out for all of us. You did what you thought was right, always. You never stopped trying to be the best 'mon you could be. You're even willing to go to Iyrodenin alone just because you're afraid it'll be for nothing. You don't want to drag anyone with you.”

“Quil, you--”

“Do you remember what I said the first night I met you? You were really upset because of how crowded Swanna's lodge was, and I said that I wanted to help because we were partners. I said I had to keep you happy and healthy, because you would do the same for me.”

Quil's eyes were glistening. “I never showed enough appreciation. But I can with this. Wartortle, I still want to be your partner, if I can.”

Wartortle turned away from the sun, shadowing the building moisture in his eyes that otherwise might sparkle in the sunlight. This way, Quil wouldn't be able to see. But no. No, Quil had come all this way for him. He'd opened his heart to Wartortle. How despicable would he have to be to return those feelings with feigned apathy?

He faced his friend and forced his quivering lips to smile.

Together, Quil and Wartortle walked past the waterfall, continuing the journey to Iyrodenin they'd begun long ago.

* * *

The abrupt shift from silent trekking to enjoyable conversation was a strain on Wartortle's voice. He wasn't complaining though. Now the journey was a pleasant hike through grandiose scenery instead of an interminable slog with nothing but his dark thoughts to keep him company. They chatted about many topics, beginning with the most pressing.

Quil explained that he'd set out to follow Wartortle the day after his departure, but was careful to remain out of sight and well behind him. His rationale was that if he waited until they were past the halfway point to reunite, when inevitably Wartortle forbade him from coming along he would explain that they were closer to Iyrodenin than Cavetown. It would thus be silly for Quil to walk all the way back to Cavetown instead of helping Wartortle find one of the Legendary Birds. Plus, he could use his Cyndaquil line knowledge of the volcano and the Pilgrimage as a bargaining chip. Wartortle admitted Quil's strategy was clever. Although he hated to think how the Resistance had been affected by its charismatic founding member's disappearance, what's done was done. Quil's idea paid off; it would indeed be silly for Quil to go back now instead of continue to Iyrodenin.

Wartortle laughed when Quil mentioned how after Wartortle had gone under, he'd stared at the pool at Origin Falls for so long that he grew fearful for Wartortle's safety. He hadn't known that Wartortle could remain comfortably submerged for so long. Evidently Water-types were few and far between in Steady Steppe.

At Wartortle's prompting, Quil admitted that he was curious to see Iyrodenin for himself. Quil hoped it would shed light on the mystery surrounding how it triggered the evolution of every other Cyndaquil. Wartortle had a hypothesis regarding the Pilgrimage and the volcano's involvement in it, but he held his peace. They'd find out for certain in a few short days.

The pair also talked about serious matters. Moltres especially. How to objectively explain to it the disruption caused by the boosts. Tactics to avoid a battle if the Moltres wanted them gone for whatever reason. What to do if the boost could not be reversed. Quil tried to hide it, but Wartortle could sense his skepticism about the existence of any Legendary Birds. Nonetheless, Quil participated in the discussions as if he expected them to be successful on their search, which Wartortle greatly appreciated. With Quil, he never felt like he was being manipulative or intimidating in speaking his mind and suggesting courses of action. The Quilava had a quiet passion that had grown since the day Wartortle had met him.

Their conversations were broken up by encounters with wild Pokémon, as usual. Wartortle confirmed with Quil that responding cooperatively and strategically was perfectly fine, as opposed to fighting individually and instinctually. The battles were a throwback to the time when it had been only the two of them traveling together. Old favorites like Ember Arc made an appearance, but Wartortle invented new ways to maximize their potential based on their new movesets and combat prowess. Every battle brought the duo closer to fighting like a well-oiled machine capable of responding optimally to any scenario.

Quil was not helpful in the way of formulating ideas, and only barely assisted in refining the ones they had, but he gave them life in a way that Wartortle could not. The positivity that Quil brought to each fight was too exuberant for Wartortle to match. Quil complimented Wartortle's successful strategies, then stopped Wartortle from being too hard on himself when a tactic or entire fight went poorly. Quil never complained when an order caused him to abandon what he was already doing, or to take a hit. Between battles, he would motivate Wartortle with a few reassuring words or a bright smile that showed his faith in his friend.

Quil was a bundle of undying spirit. His role in the Resistance had rubbed off on him more than Wartortle had realized. The energy had always been there, as shown by Quil's excitement to explore the Prison, his firm decision to help the Pokémon of Blindhollow, or the moments of fire in his speeches. Now, however, whatever barriers of insecurity and anxiety preventing that energy from shining through had been lifted. Somewhere along the way, it seemed Quil had decided to unfetter his passion. With Quil at his side, Wartortle caught himself believing that anything was possible with enough dedication.

These strong feelings got Wartortle thinking about his friendship with Quil. Its authenticity and cause in particular. As a human, he never would have built such a rapport with anyone, regardless of who they were, in the time that he'd known Quil: scarcely more than three weeks. Nor would he have built the loyalty and closeness that he had with Quil. While Wartortle did not mind the sense of attachment, his analytical mind was skeptical of how natural it could be. Ever since Day One, the thought of parting ways with Quil had caused Wartortle's insides to squirm. That had been the first clue that his Pokémon nature was greatly influencing the relationships he forged. Granted, he was lost and vulnerable in a new world on that day, but the bond had persisted and grown thicker every day thereafter. There was also the 'Pokémon trainer effect' to account for; if his humanity was influencing the development and battling strength of those he associated with, surely it might engender a greater personal connection with them as well.

Yet Wartortle thought it more likely that his Pokémon aspect was at work here, not his humanity. It fit with what Blindhollow's Wartortle had mentioned of the social behaviors of the Squirtle line. He'd said they live in the pond of their hatching until they're ready, if they even leave at all. Wartortle had been transformed into a Pokémon with a biology that facilitated social bonding. Quil was the first Pokémon he'd met, and certainly the first one he trusted enough to call a friend. That had to count for something.

Examining his gut feelings with such care was almost counter-intuitive. One did not typically analyze the way one felt. One merely felt a certain way. Especially in this Pokémon culture. Somehow, Wartortle was happier about his friendship with Quil than ever before. Pinning down the reasons it had arisen had reinforced its legitimacy. More than at any other time in the past, Wartortle dreaded the idea of leaving Quil for that long ever again.

If I can swing it, Quil and I are going to be thick as thieves from now on. We're an excellent team, our goals are aligned, and we've been through some harrowing experiences together. We even have Types that complement each other fairly well. He glanced at Quil, whose blunt snout currently wore an expression of contentment. I won't make the mistake of abandoning him again.

At night, Quil curled partway around Wartortle's shell in the hole they dug. The labor took much more time than Bein had ever needed to spend and the result was messier, but making a hole was worth it. The added bit of warmth from the hole and their body contact made the night more comfortable for both of them. However, the heat from Quil's fires, added to their combined body heat, caused a problem that neither foresaw. Wartortle was awoken in the dead of night by Quil scrambling to escape their little hollow. A layer of wet slush lay at the bottom. The icy water in contact with Wartortle's belly failed to bother him by virtue of it being water, but Quil refused to sleep in it. They had made great strides together regarding Quil's fear of water. Unfortunately the distaste remained in Quil's head, like a catchy tune that could never be fully erased. He dug a new hole and extinguished his fires in order to prevent the problem from reoccurring.

The seventh day was windier than the others. The wind was westward, bringing the alpine cold of their mountain ridges to the dusty, arid lands that had come into view in the east. The desert, if that was what it was, was not one of sun-baked and barren flatlands, but of fractured rocks, rugged shrubs, and rust-colored soil. To the west, only more of their mountain range could be seen. Neither of the pair knew what lands lay beyond. They wended their way around patches of snow on the lofty paths. Every hour that passed presented them with shorter peaks, gentler wind, and less snow on the ground. The snowy wonderland Wartortle had grown so used to was gone by the end of the day, replaced by dark rock and powder-fine dirt.

The eighth day brought their goal into sight. The volcano was designated by a modest plume of smoke rising from its top. Far more striking were the orange rivulets of what could only be lava. They formed a chaotic latticework on the steep slopes. Fortunately the lava flows were concentrated on the western side, offering them them the possibility of ascending the mostly rocky eastern side. While the volcano did not match Wartortle's mental picture of a menacing behemoth hidden behind back-lit black smoke, it was nonetheless unmistakable. Its height did not set it apart from the surrounding mountains. The smoking top fulfilled that role admirably. The starkly contrasting colors so much like an Arcanine's pelt did not hurt either.

Were the volcano a flirtatious Pokémon showing off its flashy color to prospective mates, it would have no need to take further measures to attract attention. Nonetheless it had placed itself in a position to frame its blacks and oranges with the perfect backdrop: the sea. A great blue unbroken vastness spread from the shore to the untouchable horizon. The coastline west of Iyrodenin was obscured by the rest of the range, and the eastern coastline was sandy before quickly transitioning to the rocky desert landscape, but Iyrodenin itself emerged from where the sea met whatever landmass they were on. Island? Continent? Wartortle knew not. The mountain range had led them directly to the sea. The volcano marked the edge.

“Wow,” Quil said. Little more was needed. 'Wow' summed up the picturesque sight quite nicely in Wartortle's eyes. Nature's potential for beauty had been fully realized in the view of Iyrodenin. If for no other reason than grandeur, he could see why the volcano might be held in such esteem by the Cyndaquil evolutionary line.

At length, Wartortle said, “I grew up in a seaside city. Saw the ocean almost every day. I thought I'd take the sight of the sea for granted when I finally saw it again. I was wrong.”

Wartortle expected Quil to chuckle, but he did not. “If I saw this every day, I would relocate. That much water is...you can't win against that. You can't walk around it. It's hard to imagine that there are Pokémon that live in that their whole lives. Underwater, swimming through the wetness every second of every minute.” He dropped to his forepaws, his shoulders hunching as he shook.

“First time seeing the ocean?”

Quil nodded. “I heard you can also see the ocean not far from where my family lives in Steady Steppe. A little way beyond the western hills. I planned on never looking for it, and that plan has definitely not changed. If we make it to the top of that volcano, I think I'll have an ocean view to last me forever.”

Wartortle hummed in agreement. “That'll be a sight. The ocean blue, from the top of Iyrodenin.”

Ten minutes later, he allowed Quil to nudge him away from the gorgeous view. Their day's march was calm, yet tenser than any of the others. The volcano was always in sight. Wartortle could bring his mind to think about little else. The same questions and worries about the journey's end held his attention just as the lava flows oozing down the slopes held his gaze. Once the sun had set, the volcano glowed. The burning light of the lava was brighter than any star, or even the silver of the waxing moon. Quil voiced his opinion that the volcano's beauty was far more pronounced at night than in the day. Wartortle almost agreed, but the absence of the blue of the ocean detracted from the volcano's allure for him. The reverse was true for his friend. He found amusement in the fact that the mere sight of water subconsciously slanted their opinions. Not too long ago, Wartortle knew he would have been appalled by his body's meddling with his preferences. Now it was easy to laugh off. He was a Water-type Pokémon; of course the volcano would be more attractive to him by its proximity to the sea.

Quil and Wartortle climbed Iyrodenin on the ninth day.


	36. Destination

“My father said there's a small vent halfway up the southeastern side. That's where the Pilgrimage ends.”

Their progress up the steep slope of Iyrodenin was not so much a hike as it was a scramble. Both of them were on all fours for the sake of balance. On two feet, the dusty gray rocks left over from the lava flows of years gone by would have been easily dislodged to trip them up. Wartortle could smell the distinctive odor of the volcanic rocks with his nose so close to them. They smelled like a natural, cruder asphalt.

Avoiding the lava flows was a simple matter so close to the base. The molten rock moved at the pace of a Slowpoke, and the flows were few and far between. When their ascent could not be rerouted around them, the pair ran and jumped over the flows in their way to continue upward. Wartortle was astonished at the amount of radiant heat the lava produced. In approaching a flow for a jump, he'd begin to feel the heat more than five feet away. Soaring over a lava flow was nothing short of jumping through a wall of fire. The heat rising above every flow was sizzling hot. He needed to stop upon landing and gulp in the cooler air for a moment while Quil looked on with a contrite expression.

The vent, once they found it, was neither obvious nor hidden. Had they not been looking for a small opening into the volcano, Wartortle guessed it would have been a coin toss whether or not they found it. The aura of heat the hole exuded could be felt from twenty feet away, which helped. So did the trickle of smoke that crept along the ceiling of the opening, quickly becoming evanescent once it reached the open air. Even so, the unassuming opening was the same color as the rest of the slope. No signs posted outside the entrance. No Typhlosion standing guard, which was actually not too surprising considering a Typhlosion might not be able to even fit into the passage.

Wartortle bent his head down to peer inside. The passage was a small tunnel leading into perfect darkness. The evidence that this was a vent of a volcano was overwhelming however, as the eye-watering heat pouring from the opening forced Wartortle's eyes to squint and his lips to press firmly shut. He could only tolerate standing by the opening for seconds at a time. As he withdrew, he blinked his eyes rapidly and willed more water to his eyes. To his surprise, his body responded with a sensation not unlike water being pulled from his Pool into his throat for a Water Gun or Bubble attack. The cool water soothed the heat away.

I'd make a fantastic actor now, since I can cry on command, thought Wartortle with amusement.

“This is it,” Quil murmured. “The opening matches the description in my instructions. I don't know what happens inside, but once I come out, my Pilgrimage is over.”

Wartortle rubbed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hands. “I think I'll have to wait outside. Sorry I can't come with you but it's too hot for me.”

“It is?” Quil stuck his snout into the opening, like a taste test for temperature. “Oh, it is hot, isn't it? Probably even hotter the deeper you go.”

Quil drew a deep breath as he stood tall in front of the outpouring of blistering heat. “Please don't feel bad Wartortle. I should go alone. My Pilgrimage was always supposed to end that way.”

“Er, fight well,” said Wartortle, after recalling the Pokémon equivalent of 'good luck'. The Quilava shot him a grateful smile, then crawled into the passage. Wartortle watched the light of his fires recede before slumping against the slope some ways away. Far enough that he could breathe and feel his lungs actually getting air. His thoughts followed Quil toward the volcano's core.

Some Fire-type Pokémon must be waiting at the end of the vent. The final challenge. The guardian of the Pilgrimage, charged with testing the battling experience of every Cyndaquil and Quilava that arrives. I suppose it would have to be a Typhlosion, tradition and all. Something suitably grand for the end of a long journey.

I hope it doesn't take too long. For all I know, that vent could lead to a labyrinth of tunnels. A second Cavetown, this one with temperatures like an oven and the glow of magma instead of fungi. Or there may be a whole gauntlet of obstacles for him to overcome. I may be out here for hours while Quil gets to where he needs to be.

Not ten minutes later, the dark walls of the passage were lightened by an approaching flame. Quil promptly emerged, breathing somewhat heavily. His eyes were vacant. The Quilava was lost in thought. When Wartortle approached, it took Quil a while to notice. He blinked, focusing on Wartortle's face for but a moment, but his brow wrinkled and he was gone again. Wartortle let him have his peace for a full minute before prompting him.

“How did it go?”

Quil shook his head, as in disbelief. “There's a message. That's it. Nothing else.”

Wartortle waited for more, but Quil was out of it. He seemed fairly upset. Wartortle gently asked for clarification after Quil had had a moment.

“The passage was around a hundred paces long, crawling on four feet. The end of it was really, really hot. I was starting to feel out of breath. All of the walls were plain rock. Nothing else. I checked twice. The only thing in the entire tunnel was a message engraved deep in the smooth stone where the tunnel ended. The inscription looked really old, like it should be.”

“What did it say?” Wartortle asked almost before Quil had finished speaking.

He shook his head, somewhat violently this time. “I don't get it. I'm not great at reading U-script, but it was only two little words. I can't have gotten it wrong. But they don't make sense. I'm definitely in the right place though; we followed the directions, and--”

“What did it say?” Wartortle repeated.

Quil looked up, as if noticing Wartortle standing beside him. “Return Home.”

“That's it? 'Return Home'?”

Quil slowly shook his head yet again. “Ten Unown. Two words. No writing anywhere else. No glowing stones embedded in the rock or any other possible evolution triggers. No sounds other than the volcano grumbling. Just 'Return Home'.”

Wartortle wanted to be shocked. To share in Quil's bewilderment. Then they could work through it together to find a reasonable answer. Yet he'd been expecting the volcano to hold no special power. He'd expected it to be an ordinary volcano, as far as a volcano could be ordinary. The brevity of the message was a tad brutal he thought, but it was better to be blunt and clear than elaborate and potentially confusing.

“Quil. Listen. I don't think this volcano causes Cyndaquil to evolve.”

Quil laughed once. “That's the whole point of the Pilgrimage! We all have to come here, and we always come back as Quilava. Every time!”

He kept his voice calm as he replied, “I don't think the Pilgrimage is about the volcano. That's why the message says to return home as soon as you've arrived. The volcano is irrelevant. It's about the journey. It was always about the journey.”

Quil stood on his hind legs as his eyes stared with urgency at Wartortle's face. Wartortle could see the gears turning behind them as he continued. “I have no doubt you would have worked all of this out on your way home; the facts add up. The reason all Cyndaquil always return home as Quilava is because they evolve on the way here. Or on the way back, I suppose. The family of each Cyndaquil must only send them out when they're judged to be close to evolving. That part would be simple, as the Quilava and Typhlosion of the family would know from first-hand experience what to look for. Then the Cyndaquil on the Pilgrimage evolves along the way from all the hardships and battling.”

His friend was stock-still at first. Then he sunk to the ground and curled up, as if going to sleep. His voice was especially quiet. “No. This is the Pilgrimage. A sacred journey for all Cyndaquil. It's not a lie. We're in the wrong place. I must have forgotten an important step.”

“To be precise,” Wartortle said, “you weren't lied to when they told you the Pilgrimage would result in your evolution. They weren't wrong either. You are a Quilava. The Pilgrimage did evolve you, even if it happened in Blindhollow.”

Wartortle turned his attentions up the slope to give Quil time to digest. The lava flows became more frequent closer to the top of the volcano. Thicker, too. If they took the final portion of the ascent cautiously and methodically, they could still arrive in the afternoon. Assuming Quil didn't need hours to relax and absorb the truth behind the Pilgrimage's facade of magic. He did his best to plan a route around the treacherous lava from what little he could see up ahead while Quil remained curled on the ground.

“You sped up the coming of my evolution.” There was no accusation in Quil's voice, only statement of fact. “Without you, I wouldn't have evolved on my Pilgrimage. Iyrodenin must have some power. It must do something. Otherwise the Pilgrimage would not have succeeded for me. Right?”

“Hm, good point. I didn't think of that. Although, we have to remember that there is still the entire return journey. If you were traveling without me, you could have still evolved in, say, Root Forest on the way back.” He held up a claw. “Also, if you were alone, your battles every step of the way would have been more challenging.”

“The journey would have taken me much longer too,” Quil added. “Giving me time to evolve.” His tone was shifting from morose to resigned. Wartortle judged he was ready for one more blow.

“Last thing: Remember that day we fought the Espeon, and you wondered why your father told you about a 'shortcut' through Blind Prairie that was teeming with strong Pokémon? Ones that not even both of us had a chance of defeating? I thought about that a few times, and now I'm finally sure of the reason. Your father wanted you to fail. He wanted you to face an assortment of challenges, thereby toughening up.”

Quil rebelled at the concept. “No, we can't be sent to purposely fail. I can't see my father doing that. He's stern, and really strong, but he...I thought he loved Quindo and me.”

“Tough love. He still wanted what was best for you, didn't he? My own mom is the same way.” His face widened with a grim smile. “I'm willing to guess that the route he sent you on was one of the most difficult and varied ways to get to Iyrodenin from Steady Steppe. For example, we must have crossed the Karp at one of its thickest points, so far downstream. That forced you to be in close contact with water for a long time. Unfortunately. And the route seems to have sent you through every major settlement between your home and this volcano. He likely wanted you to meet all sorts of Pokémon, see how they live.”

“I know I can't complain!” he added with his hands up. “I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't bumped into me on the route you took. Plus, it all worked out in the end. You're a Quilava now. Your Pilgrimage was a success. I don't see any reason to think otherwise. Do you?”

A few beats of silence. “I need a while to think about this. Sorry.”

Wartortle nodded and went to kill some time by the nearest lava flow. Volcanology had never been his field, nor a subject of his interest. Nevertheless, observing the lava now sparked his curiosity. Was it a liquid, or a solid? The surface was ridged like a ripple through glue, but the flow was too sluggish to be anything close to a true liquid. He squirted a mouthful of water in an arc to splash against the scorching lava as an experiment, and as expected, the water instantly became steam with an angry sizzle. The lava was not visibly affected. In truth, he was dealing with a terrifying substance. It exuded sweltering heat, he couldn't touch it, and it was unable to be slowed or stopped.

Another point of interest was the inconsistent pattern of the flows as they oozed down the slope of the volcano. Some of the flows were small enough to solidify by the time they reached the base. These had a gray surface, and moved only a foot every few seconds. Soon, Wartortle knew, they would be indistinguishable from the cooled rock he walked upon. Other flows were like living streams of light and heat, their motion relatively swift. Those would not cool and solidify for the foreseeable future. In what seemed like miniature eruptions, new flows of lava would come pouring down the slope, each at a pace that matched its size. Like a maze with shifting walls, the environment was constantly in flux. 

Quil uncurled himself at last and joined Wartortle in his examination of the lava. “I'm ready to keep going. Thanks for waiting.”

Wartortle needed to be sure that friend's head was in the game. The rest of the day would be no cakewalk. “Are you sure? We can afford to tackle the rest of this volcano tomorrow; it's not crucial for us to look for Moltres up there today.”

“I'm sure,” said Quil. He sounded it, too. “I'm a Quilava. I've completed the Pilgrimage. I can forget about it now.”

“What about your father, and what he put you--”

“I don't need to worry about that right now, do I?” Quil interrupted.

Wartortle stared at him. Anger, from Quil? Rare. “Yes, sure.”

“Sorry,” said Quil as he sank to his belly. “I think I'm going to be mad at my father when I see him again. I can't think about that now though. Until these boosts are fixed, I'm going to forget about my own journey. It's not important. I want to focus on solving the problem that's troubling everyone. Does that sound fine?”

“Definitely,” he said with a nod. “I've used the same strategy when something was bothering me that I couldn't change. Even so, let me know if you want to talk about it. You know I want to help.”

Quil's face remained tensed for only a moment before he conceded a smile. “Okay. Now, to the top!”

The pair set off toward the peak along the best route that Wartortle could conceive. Twice more, it was necessary to leap over a small portion of lava. The slow ascent was interrupted by an encounter with a Magby, a Pokémon that might one day become a Magmar. It sprayed embers which might have been impressive coming from Quil many days ago. Now they appeared weak in Wartortle's eyes. His water brought the Magby down quickly, but not before it exhaled purple-tinged smog toward Quil's face. The fumes were the color of shriveled raisins, like the fumes that had been puffing out the top of the volcano all day. Quil was thankfully quick enough to evade the smog.

The only other incident happened mere minutes from the lip of Iyrodenin's peak, where lava flows were strewn about like a giant, burning cobweb centered on the peak. The volume of the flows was bolstered as a surge of fresh lava overflowed from the lip. The lava was already flowing thickly so close to the peak. Now the patches of bare rock shrank as the edges were consumed by the new lava. Wartortle turned downhill to back off and wait for the surge to subside, but an adjacent flow had already formed an off-shoot from the surge. It rolled across the rock they'd used for their ascent at the pace of a brisk walk. He scrambled downhill, preparing to leap over the new flow before it thickened to become impassable, but thought better of the impulsive action. Better to turn a slow three-sixty and identify the best option. Regret stabbed into him when he saw lava surrounding him and Quil. None of it was any less thin than the new off-shoot. The best option was now closed to them. The regret became fear.

“Wartortle, we're surrounded by it now,” Quil said in a controlled tone.

“I can see that,” he replied in the same fashion. His eyes examined every bit of the lava as his feet kept him turning in a circle. The surge had ended. As the volume of lava flowing past was reduced, its speed slowed. And with that deceleration, the flows flattened and spread laterally along the hardened rock. Toward the pair from all sides.

Quil pointed left to the most colorful and thus hottest of the flows. “I think that one is the most narrow, but it's still too wide to jump. I know I couldn't make it. You?”

“No.” What were they to do? The lava was flattening and spreading very slowly, but the flow was unstoppable. Sooner or later, the rock they occupied would be the riverbed of a lava stream. The only option to escape seemed to be leaping over the narrowest flow.

“Anything useful for this situation in the bag?” Quil asked. The backpack was strapped on his back now, well above the flames of his rear. Wartortle thought it was a good decision both because he had digits dexterous enough to access the items in the pouches without Quil needing to take it off, and because withdrawing into his shell if he were wearing the bag caused it to be at great risk of taking a direct blow.

“No,” said Wartortle again after mentally reviewing the bag's contents. “Nothing to help us sprout wings or jump farther.”

Stay calm, he thought as the heat of the encroaching lava began wafting into the air he breathed. I have to stay calm. Don't think about what you want your last words to be. Don't think about how you're failing everyone. No, stop that! Stay calm. What are my options?

“Wartortle,” Quil said. His voice was no longer controlled. Their island of rock had a diameter of less than fifteen feet at the widest. If only there was another island of rock in the flows that they could use to make it across! “We have to jump. Let's hope a Murkrow doesn't fly by!”

What? He dismissed the distracting thought as a useful one formulated in his brain.

“I think...yes, I have an idea. We need a stepping stone. I might be able to make one. Where's the narrowest point?”

He readied his Water Gun and fired it in a high arc to land where Quil pointed a forepaw. The water boiled instantaneously when it struck the bright orange lava. Wartortle continued the stream for as long as he could. When his technique grew unfocused after a few seconds, he closed his mouth and relaxed for a moment. Then he fired another Water Gun. Then another. Always, he kept the water landing on the same tiny portion of lava. He even compensated for the flow's movement by following it downhill with his water.

By the fourth, the spot he'd been striking had darkened to a crisp gray. Surrounding it was the same bright orange. Determining if the spot was solid enough to use as a stepping stone would be impossible from range. He'd have to hope the outer layer of the lava in that one spot was legitimate solid rock by actually pressing on it.

“You're slower and heavier so you should go first,” Quil said. “That way I can launch you.”

“Right, the Springboard Boost that we practiced against those two Gligar in the mountains. You push full strength, I'll compensate.” Quil acknowledged while Wartortle backpedaled to the other end of the rocky island, stepping as close to the lava flow as he dared. Quil dropped to all fours at the lava close to the stepping stone.

“Ready,” they both said simultaneously. Neither laughed.

Wartortle used Water Gun one last time. The stream was slightly off mark due to the distance, but no time remained to cool the lava further. Quil would need as much room as possible in the dwindling space for a running start when he went next.

With a frown of concentration, Wartortle envisioned himself completing the maneuver successfully. Then he dashed at Quil and placed his last step against his friend's back. Quil arched his back sharply upwards, thrusting against Wartortle's foot forcefully. The extra boost launched Wartortle skyward.

The moment he passed into the burning air above the lava, his eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. His heart fluttered with panic. He'd failed to account for the intense heat. How could he land properly if his entire face was sizzling? The fur covering his ears felt like it was being singed to ash. Someone was yelling helplessly. He forced water across his eyes, keeping them barely protected enough for him to squint at the approaching lava. Fortunately, both of them had used the correct amount of force to send him on the right trajectory.

Wartortle landed hard on the gray spot. While it proved to be solid, he heard it crunch with his impact. Orange fluid fountained out of the cracks around his feet. He yelped as sudden heat burned his soles. Jumping immediately would only plunge him into the lava all around, so he steeled himself to the burning heat as he bent his knees and gathered his full balance. After a big standing long jump, he was safe on the far side of the lava flow.

Right away, he turned, dropped to all fours, and fired a stream of water to land on the same spot he'd jumped from. He cut it off when he saw Quil come soaring into the air toward the spot. The foreboding crunch split the air once again. Then Quil was beside him after a second jump.

“Yes!” shouted Wartortle as Quil let out a small roar. Wartortle raised his palm for Quil to slap.

“High five,” he explained at Quil's puzzlement. “You slap your palm against mine, like a Fighting-type move. It means...something like 'We did very well'.”

Quil chuckled as he thrust his paw pads into Wartortle's. The resounding slap was missing, but the attitude was there.

“I like this better,” Quil said while shifting backward on his hind legs for a spring at Wartortle. They exchanged light tackles, mid-air.

Wartortle grinned. “I admit, I like that one better too. If we were both humans though, we'd rebound with fractured skulls and dislocated shoulders. That's why they do high fives. Why we do high fives. Whatever.”

Quil rose to his hind legs, then pointed a forepaw uphill. “Looks like it's clear of lava that way.”

Wartortle nodded. “Almost there. I hope this dangerous climb was worth it. Oh, we should put on those scarves now.”

Quil held still while Wartortle rummaged in the pouches of the backpack until he felt his claws snag cloth. He tied the orange Special Band around the top of his shell, and the yellow-and-violet Detect Band around Quil's neck above the pack. The Quilava wobbled on his feet as Wartortle finished the knot.

“Urgh. This is really strange.”

“Motion stands out, correct?” He well recalled the involuntary laser focus of his first rodeo with the Detect Band. “I'm sure the effect will be helpful for any trouble we end up brewing on the peak.”

Quil gave half-hearted agreement. After a minute, he appeared steady once more. The two continued their ascent over the hardened lava of ages past until, at last, they crested the edge of the black peak and beheld the summit of Iyrodenin.

The volcanic crater was very shallow, less deep even than Blindhollow's crater. The summit was more plateau than a lava-filled pit. The center of the crater did indeed house a glowing pit of fresh lava from the main vent of the volcano. However, the beginning of the lava pool was a good forty feet away from the crater's edge where the pair stood. The rest of the summit was uneven with rocky ridges and rivulets of lava pouring toward the lip of the crater to drain down to the base. These were concentrated on the western side of the summit, as they'd observed the previous day.

Though a sea breeze blew in over the crater's northern edge, Wartortle could not say he felt the coolness at all. The warmth emanating from the lava pit pervaded the summit. Viscous red bubbles burst at the surface and belched smoke, giving birth to the plume above Iyrodenin. The sky's color appeared grayer, washed out from the thin haze of smoke shrouding the summit. Wartortle sniffed. The scent was...primeval. It belonged in the crushed and airless bowels of the earth.

“You're going to roll your eyes,” said Quil as his own nostril slits flared, “but I love it up here.”

Wartortle was preoccupied with learning the lay of the land. He thought he could hear something over the bloop bloop of the bubbles bursting. His ears automatically rotated as far forward as they could. Yes, there was a voice somewhere on the far side of the lava pit. Its owner was obscured by smoke and the irregular ground, but Wartortle had hope that it belonged to the one he sought.

“Quil, there's someone on the other side. Want to sneak around the edge of the crater?”

“Like the first time we arrived in Blindhollow? Alright.” He fell to all fours, and backed down over the lip out of sight. His two sets of fires died away, leaving sizzling red spots.

Slowly, they circled along the crater rim. At times leaping over lava was necessary, and even dipping further down the slope to find an alternate route around a particularly lively flow. Three minutes' time found them almost to the opposite side of the volcano.

“Can you feel that?” asked Quil. “The air. It's different the further we go. Tighter.”

Wartortle paused and examined the sensation of the air. “Yes. Like a pressure.”

They exchanged worried looks. Wartortle did not know what the pressure might mean, and neither it seemed did Quil. The pair finished skirting the crater and crept up over the lip. The pressure doubled, becoming easily noticeable, as Wartortle's eyes beheld the western portion of the volcanic crater. A moment later, Quil slowly let out the breath he'd been holding.

Moltres was not as large as Wartortle expected. If one looked past the flames, all that remained was a delicate yellow frame standing only six or seven feet tall. Its talons were skinny, its beak unimpressive despite its tapered length. The color of its plumage was as pale as a tropical beach. That was if one ignored the flames.

But Moltres' body was aflame in a way that made Quil's fires look like two tiny matchsticks. Instead of flight feathers, the wings folded on its back swept out into fire. Its tail was a billowing flame, and its head crest a blazing torch. Each of the flames pouring off its body danced and sputtered with wild energy, so unlike Quil's controlled fire spikes. Other Fire-types wielded fire at worst and mimicked it at best. Moltres embodied fire. It was fire.

Moltres' beak moved as it spoke to another Pokémon floating at eye level a very respectful distance away from Moltres. This Pokémon, next to the glorious splendor of Moltres, was as pleasant to look at as a Garbodor. As Wartortle studied it through the wispy haze, he recognized it as the one he'd met outside of one of Cavetown's Habitation Caverns. He had asked about the location of Moltres! Now here he was, 'V'-shaped orange crest and all. What was he doing up here talking to Moltres?

“Moltres and Victini. This is a dream.” Quil's legs wobbled, and he slumped onto his belly with his eyes on the summit's Pokémon.

Victini? That was the name of a Legendary supposedly endemic to Wartortle's home region of Unova. He knew very little about it other than its status as a good luck charm; Victini was said to grant victory. Wartortle had long ago waved away that superstitious nonsense, thus dismissing the Legendary Pokémon as one that legitimately only existed in legends.

Obviously he'd been wrong. If Quil was correct, the Pokémon that had privately spoken to him in that corridor was Legendary. He replayed what he could remember of the conversation in his mind. Some of what Victini had said and how the Legendary had acted now made much more sense, like his surprise at Wartortle's mellow reaction to his presence.

Moltres had been talking during Wartortle's thoughts. Its voice, for all its effortless volume, was androgynous. If Wartortle was forced to guess, he'd say it was female. The pace of her words always was measured, unhurried.

“Yes. If you are the change that has visited my counterparts, I have been expecting you. If you are responsible for lifting Electric and Ice, I have awaited your arrival with rare hunger.”

In contrast, the saccharine voice that squeaked out of Victini's tiny mouth was insignificant. Even Victini's fangs were ornamentation compared to Wartortle's own. Yet Moltres and Victini were both Legendary?

“Yup yup, that was me, Victini! I did it all.” He laughed like a child watching his victim fall prey to a silly prank. “I've been super excited for this day too. For the better part of a month I've been trying to pin down your location. I wasted days on the western reaches of this stup--...of this stupendous island. Now here you are at the northern tip!” 

The pregnant pause that preceded Moltres' responses had Wartortle holding his breath without meaning to. His belly tensed as he waited for the vacant space in the conversation to be filled by Moltres' words. The Pokémon had a magnetic presence.

“No, Articuno and Zapdos would not have told you where I roost, would they. I do not fault them for prolonging this exceptional inequality as long as they are able. These happenings are unusual entertainment in the immeasurable lives we live, are they not Victini?”

Victini's smile widened. “Great fun, yes!”

“Now you are here. Clarify for me: why?”

“To boost you of course!” Victini said, cartwheeling through the air even while keeping his distance from Moltres. “That's what ordinary Pokémon are calling it.”

Moltres' posture was immobile as a statue even while her flames licked at the air in constant motion. “Seeing the children of my element prosper is a magnificent gift. I must know, how do you accomplish this 'boost'?”

Victini squeaked a chuckle. “You're in for a treat, Moltres. Fire-type moves only get boosted because you get boosted. I'm going to give my power to you. You'll love it, I know it!”

Moltres flicked her head aside in disdain, her first movement. “Do you think me unaware of the connection between me and my element? I meant that witnessing my children succeed pleases me more than any improvement in myself. I wield all the strength I could need. Tell me the workings of your boost.”

“Listen sister,” Victini said with a raised finger. “I happen to be just as legendary as you are. I can see you're used to dealing with trivial visitors, so I'll be patient with you this once. If you take that tone with me again though I'll be gone before you can say 'Sorry Victini!', 'kay?”

Moltres legs bent and her wings unfurled partway before she froze and gradually relaxed. As her wings folded again, Wartortle could see her chest visibly deflate. He reminded himself, again, to breathe. The flames still burned brighter than they had. Moltres was likely still tense.

“I apologize. It is as you say.”

“Better.” Victini smirked. “I can boost any Pokémon I wish with a touch. If I bopped you right now with my power, Fire-types via your connection would be boosted like Electric and Ice. For a few seconds. My power is like one of Zapdos' lightning bolts: extreme, uncontainable power for an instant, then nothing. Obviously I can't spend my life hovering behind you Legendary Birds, supplying that power, so I put my beautiful mind to work and invented these.”

He reached to his hip and untied the knot on a string that Wartortle could have sworn had not been present a moment before. After unwrapping the string from around his waist, Victini presented what appeared to be a tiny orange stone on a long cord.

“A rock.” Moltres was not impressed.

“Yup!” Victini agreed. “A boring old rock. I had some Rock-type carve them to look like my cute little face, but they're still rocks. That is, until I do this.”

He held the rock in both hands and closed his blue eyes. A faint light began to shine outward from his hands. While the rays were pure white light, the air around his hands shimmered with an orange hue. Wartotle imagined he could hear the passing light rays as an ethereal hum. The effect faded. The puny rock looked no different than when Victini had first revealed it but Wartortle wagered the light had been no show. He had felt the energy in the air.

“Quil,” he hissed. “Those powered-up rocks are the source of the boosts. Every one of the Legendary Birds has one of those rocks, I know it!”

“You wear it like a talisman,” Victini was explaining. “My power will prevent it from shattering and the cord from snapping. While you wear it, all of that power inside will flow into you. I've stored enough that it will last until I recharge it in, oh, a month or two. How's that for a gift?”

“We can't let Moltres touch it,” Quil whispered back. “If she does, Flames will be boosted.” His eyes widened. “Wait. That'll help us. We should let her take it!”

Should they intervene, or let it happen? Wartortle's thoughts began to race. He barely heard Moltres' next words.

“Such a gift from a stranger begs reciprocation. Indeed, this is only our first meeting. What can I do in return?”

Victini waved a hand, dismissing her words. “Don't worry about it, really! This is my first time on this island, so I want to be friends with the important Pokémon that live here, like you! Maybe one day soon I'll have a favor I can ask.” His smile deepened. “For now, trust me when I say I'm super duper overjoyed to see the fun happening among all the ordinary Pokémon.”

Quil nudged him. “You have to decide! Finding Moltres was your battle.”

If Moltres received the talisman, as a Legendary already, she would presumably become absolutely unstoppable in battle. If she weren't already. Taking the talisman from her possession afterward by force would likely be impossible.

Yet allowing her to receive the talisman would boost Fire-types. With the element of surprise, Quil's boosted Ember might be enough to best Moltres after she'd received the talisman. That was the only advantage they were likely to get. Without boosting Quil, the battle lines would be drawn with two ordinary Pokémon on one side and the Legendary Moltres on the other. They couldn't afford to stop her from taking the talisman. The boost was their best shot.

Moltres inclined her head to Victini before expertly grasping the cord in the tip of her beak. Wartortle watched as she straightened her neck, swinging her beak slowly upward.

Didn't I come here to stop the boosts? I was transformed into a Pokémon in order to stop what I'm witnessing now. I'm going to watch it happen?

She pointed her beak vertically, up at the smoke plume rising to the skies. The stone dangled on the cord. She was poised to flick the loop over her beak, allowing it to slide over her head and down into place at the base of her neck. Wartortle had done his best to rapidly analyze their courses of action. Logically, allowing Moltres to don the talisman and share in its power was the optimal choice.

But his chest tightened. His skin itched. A force from within him urged him to take action. His gut.

Wartortle obeyed.

“Stop!” he cried as loudly as he could, and raced over the crater's edge toward the two Legendaries. The pounding of Quil's footsteps followed right behind him.

Moltres' beak jerked at the sudden noise. The talisman was tossed high into the air before clattering against the black rock far behind her fiery tail. Both Legendaries watched as Wartortle and Quil closed the distance. Their approach was slow as they to skirted or jumped over the rivulets of lava oozing from the central pit to the crater's edge, but neither Moltres nor Victini made any moves other than with their eyes.

“This is insane,” Quil moaned.

Moltres' body heat rivaled even the fresh lava of the summit as Wartortle came to a stop. Even at distance, the gorgeous flames roiling off her form seemed to fill Wartortle's vision. Next to Quil, he stood before Moltres of the Legendary Birds.

Yes. This was insane.


	37. Ascendance

Words did not come easily to Wartortle as he faced Moltres and Victini. Perhaps speechlessness was a side-effect of confronting two of the mightiest and most famous Pokémon in the known world. Legendaries. The heat pouring off of Moltres' body and the raw molten lava flowing along Iyrodenin's peak was not helping his focus either. The smoky air was taut with an inexplicable pressure, too, that had only worsened as Wartortle approached the Legendaries. To top it off, the black rock underfoot was unpleasantly warm. He rocked slowly from foot to foot, trying to keep them cool. All in all, putting together an appropriate sentence might take a while.

Victini's white pupils flicked between Wartortle and Quil. He floated higher into the air, away from the lava-riddled ground and out of reach. Was the Legendary honestly worried about a sudden attack from him or Quil, despite the already generous separation between them? Or was Victini preparing for an airborne assault of his own? Moltres shifted on her scaly talons to face the pair with torturous slowness. The voice from her fierce beak resounded in the air as if they were all standing in a tiny room instead of on an exposed mountain peak.

“Wartortle. Quilava. You have interrupted the most meaningful moment that I have experienced in decades. The threshold of an intriguing new chapter.” Her fiery head crest swelled with vivid yellow flames. “WHY?!”

Wartortle squeezed his eyes shut and braced against the tirade. This is bad, this is bad! I can't think. What do I say? What can--

“Moltres,” shouted Quil. “Do you know what the Electric and Ice boosts are doing down there? Have you seen the awful problems caused by Zappers abusing their new power? If you accept that rock from Victini, 'mon everywhere will suffer even more. Please, don't boost another Type!”

Moltres narrowed her eyes in the pause she always took before speaking. “You say this even as one of my own children. That is altruistic of you. Selfless. But very shortsighted. I care little for the fleeting existence of any ephemeral Pokémon. It seems with every flap of my burning wings as I soar the skies, far below another generation has come and gone.”

“Please!” Wartortle added. “So many Pokémon will suffer!”

She unfurled her wings. Flames licked outward as she spread them. The cascade of bright embers she had effortlessly unleashed around her was mesmerizing. “Your interruption is inexcusable, your demands insolent!”

The toes on her talons curled, clutching the rock. She was about to take to the air. Heat washed over Wartortle's face as her voice screeched, “YOU WILL LEARN YOUR INSIGNIFICANCE!”

Here we go.

“Quil, default position, defensive attitude,” Wartortle said, his words running over each other in his effort to get them out.

The Quilava's spots burst into flame as he replied, “Got it,” and dashed to the left. One of the first actions they took in most battles was to separate so that no single hostile attack could hit them both.

Moltres' first wing-beats launched her into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Wartortle caught Victini gliding away from her flaming wings. When he next blinked, Victini was gone.

That Victini is incredibly fast, he thought. Or maybe he can teleport?

He had no time to think, dismissing Victini from his mind as Moltres' throat lit up with fire visible through her open beak. Clearly Moltres was their greater concern, not Victini. A cone of roaring flame erupted from her mouth to engulf Quil as she flapped in place. He skidded to a sharp stop and rolled backwards, successfully evading the brunt of the attack, but his dodge placed him at the periphery of the fiery onslaught. The size of the Fire technique was astounding. If this was the intensity of a Legendary's attacks normally, a boosted Legendary's attacks would be truly cataclysmic.

Wartortle continued circling around behind Moltres, opting to get into an effective flanking position. The tactic might be worth it, since it would maximize the time Moltres spent turning about instead of using her devastating techniques. The flank took longer than he was used to thanks to the healthy distance from which the battle had begun.

The rock affected by Moltres' assault now glowed red hot instead of dull black. Quil, smoke curling from his body, wobbled left and right as the flames cleared. The Detect Band had been insufficient.

He's already about to faint? I thought Fire was resistant to Fire. What hope did they have if Quil was already one attack away from passing out? Wartortle stabilized himself as he drew upon his Pool and aimed at the back of Moltres' head.

Is there anything in the bag that will help against this? Any element of the landscape that we can twist to our advantage? Perhaps the better question was why Wartortle had hope to begin with. He let fly the Water Gun and hoped that the Legendary's defense was far weaker than her offense. The Special Band he wore might bolster his technique enough to do some serious damage.

Moltres instantly reacted to the touch of the water from behind. Her wings came down in a tremendous sweep, sending her arcing up and backwards into the air above Wartortle. Embers trailed in her wake. During a flawless double pirouette, she passed over Wartortle and dealt him a wallop with one wing.

He was still spraying his water when the blow sent him tumbling along the ground of the crater. A flash of heat burned his shell as he briefly skidded over what must have been the surface of one of the lava flows. When he came to rest, the edges of his vision pulsed from the encroaching darkness. He fought to stand up fully to get a better view of Quil, but could only make it to his hands and feet. That was when he spotted a speck of darkness against a nearby lava flow not ten feet away.

The talisman.

The tiny rock was orange, he recalled, but silhouetted against the glow of molten rock it appeared as a distinctive black. Wartortle could make out the crude likeness of Victini's face as the rock rested against the base of the flow. The cord had been caught in the rivulet of lava. The talisman itself was slowly being absorbed by the viscous fluid as it was dragged along the rock next to the flow. Had the rock been an ordinary one, Wartortle had no doubt it would have melted within seconds. This rock did not.

He could see Moltres attacking Quil in the hazy background. Quil had produced an exquisite smoke cloud against Moltres' offensive. Wartortle knew with grim certainty that it would do him little good.

“Hold on, Quil!” he shouted anyways.

“I was ancient before your ancestors hatched!” Moltres yelled. She settled her feet on firm ground before raising her wings up. The black rock beyond her talons cracked and shattered. Jagged pieces rose through the air to her eye level. Their lower portions dripped with the primal lava that churned below the crater's surface. She slammed her wings together. It was impossible for her to have produced a forceful enough wind for the large rocks to be launched at Quil's Smokescreen, but they did so anyway. Mid-flight, the dripping rock fragments collided to form a scorching boulder of ancient power.

Wartortle turned away from the horrific sight, but he still felt the colossal impact through his feet. He dashed toward the talisman, blinking his watering eyes against the heat produced by the lava and the weariness that threatened to make his limbs go limp. Abruptly, Victini was there. His orange fingers deftly snagged the talisman and hauled the cord out of the flow. Wartortle had stopped, surprised by the Legendary's sudden appearance. Victini turned to flash him a cheery face. He began floating upwards and away.

“No!” Wartortle cried. That talisman was their one chance! He readied a Water Gun to blast Victini out of the air.

Victini's smile widened. His form distorted, as if Wartortle was looking at the Pokémon through a lens. The smoky sky around Victini seemed to engulf him. Just like that, he was gone. Vanished.

Invisibility! Wartortle realized with a start. He never had exceptional speed, but the ability to disappear from sight! Yet he's still here. If he's floating away on the same trajectory, he should be...there!

Wartortle changed the shape of his mouth and leaked some air into his flow as he fired his water into the seemingly empty air. Bubble would have a better chance of hitting his target than Water Gun, and it might even slow Victini down. He fervently hoped that his aim was true. Otherwise, the battle would be lost. He stood no chance against Moltres, and Quil was more than likely already out.

A squeal of dismay. The air shimmered within Wartortle's stream of bubbles, resolving into a flailing Victini. As the bubbles striking him burst with loud reports, the talisman was torn from his grasp. Wartortle slammed his mouth shut and jumped as high as he could to intercept the talisman. He saw a wet Victini shrink back with his eyes wide as Wartortle reached forth an arm and outstretched hand.

Then he snatched the talisman out of the air.

Looking back, Wartortle would always imagine that moment with a different analogy in mind each time. And each time, the analogy would fail to do it justice. It was as if his whole life, human and Pokémon, he'd been trying to win at chess using only his pawns. After grabbing the talisman, he now had full command of all his forces. It was like previously, the world had been an old and blurry film in black and white. The talisman had torn the viewing screen asunder to reveal the real world in all its vibrant clarity. Before the talisman, he'd been a Weedle, and Moltres had been, well, Moltres. Not so anymore. Now he felt like he was the great Kyogre, legendary master of the vast seas. Moltres was a pesky cinder for him to swallow up at his leisure.

Wartortle landed easily with the rock and its cord clenched tightly in a fist. Unimaginable power flowed through him, in him, out of him, over him. It could not be contained. It could not be stymied. It could definitely never be stopped. Wartortle would not be defeated. Could not be defeated. His opponent was destined to lose, to be crushed by his will. This battle was his to take. To win.

He was victory given flesh.

As best as he could tell, he appeared the same. No radiance of power. No hum of vibrant energy. Moltres would have no idea what was coming.

She turned away from the dispersing smoke cloud and Quil's motionless form to face him. Already, her beak was open as fire gathered within. Another torrent of flames? Bring it on.

The same technique that had bathed Quil in livid flames blasted now out of Moltres' beak. Wartortle's face split into an eager grin before he planted his hands and feet and used his Water Gun. The rock beneath him groaned and cracked as the immense force of his water stream pressed him firmly against the ground. Like an Excadrill tunneling easily through loose soil, Wartortle's water plowed a path into the deluge of fire. A hollow roar reached his ears from the huge quantities of white steam being produced. The two attacks colliding looked like the sun in caricature: a roiling mass of white steam in the center, with yellow and orange rays of fire streaming outward. None of Moltres' fire could pass Wartortle's water stream. All of it either collided to become steam, or was redirected radially outward.

Moltres' beak clicked shut right before the water dowsed her face. Her talons grabbed at the air as she was knocked onto her back and outstretched wings. She craned her neck up to fix him with a glare before righting herself. Wartortle waited with all the confidence in the world as she flapped into the air. She wouldn't leave. Wartortle doubted that Legendaries knew how to run away. 'Flee' was not in their vocabulary.

Moltres circled the peak, a burning comet with a tail of embers and flame. He had to admit she was quite beautiful in flight, though the sight was rather ruined by her peppering him with more of the same Fire attack as she circled. The streams of flame resembled the emissions of a flamethrower. Wartortle avoided most of them. The ones he could not, however, were bothersome. If he were to stand still and endured ten or fifteen of them, he might eventually faint. As enjoyable as it might be to withstand the arsenal of a Legendary, some past incarnation of Wartortle advised him in his head that he should not make his boosted state obvious to Moltres. If only for that reason, it was time to end the battle.

With his sights set on Moltres, he sprinted to the northern lip of the crater. He could have sprinted laps around the crater all day without panting or growing tired. Hunkering down, he gauged Moltres' velocity. Then he leaped off Iyrodenin into the empty air.

After the sound of the rock shattering behind him from his jump, all he could hear was the roar of the wind past his ears. Never had he moved so fast. The mountainside fell away beneath him. Should he somehow miss his mark, he had enough speed to carry him all the way to the sea when he finally landed. He would miss Iyrodenin entirely. Of course, missing was impossible. Even when Moltres veered left and flapped hard to avoid him, he still slammed into her neck all too quickly.

The body heat emanating from Moltres was formidable, but to him it was a mere annoyance. He allowed his baser nature to take control. He hugged Moltres' slender neck close before opening his mouth wide and chomping down hard. Moltres squawked. He'd made one of the Legendary Birds actually squawk. Wartortle's cheeks dimpled as he sank his hard lips and fangs in deep. His eyes flitted sideways as she banked sharply. The peak of Iyrodenin wobbled closer. Scrambling down the soft plumage of her back, he set his eyes on the muscled base of her left wing and bit down anew.

The wing reflexively contracted, filling Wartortle's vision with feathers and flames. Moltres must have crash landed because a moment later he was suddenly thrown from her body by a violent impact. Before his body had flipped even once through the air, Wartortle had fully oriented himself to his position and direction of travel. He was set to plunge headfirst into a flow of fresh, hot lava from the crater's center. Using his Bubble at the last second was a simple matter. Fun, even. The force of the enormous bubbles bursting on the lava propelled him briefly upward. He twisted in the air and visually located his opponent before landing gracefully on the warm rock.

On foot once more, he squeezed his hand for the reassuring weight he knew to be there. Except that it wasn't. He glanced down. His hands were empty.

No! The impact – the talisman must have been ripped out of my hand. Still, the power continued to course through him. Still, he was unstoppable. Victini said the energy remains for 'a few seconds'. Enough time to decide this battle.

He bounded easily over the lava flow, reaching a height of some thirty feet. Moltres was able to stand, but she clearly was in bad shape. She held her head low and her wingtips sagged to the ground. Her chest heaved with her breathing.

As Wartortle's legs smashed into the ground, her posture straightened in preparation for some technique. He did not give her that chance. Before the tiny pieces of rock dislodged from his landing had time to clatter to the ground again, he'd already set his hands down and fired a boosted Water Gun into her flank. He could feel the residual energy from the talisman drain rapidly away with that final attack. The flow of his water narrowed and slowed to its usual level. His accuracy wavered. His knees began to shake with the effort of bracing himself. The fearless confidence blew away like so much dust before a gust of wind.

Wartortle ended the Water Gun and collapsed to the ground with his limbs splayed outward. After a quick breather, he raised his head with an effort to peer up at his opponent. Moltres' flames burned low. She was lying on her side, her neck and head flat against the rock. Every few seconds, her left talon twitched as if trying to claw someone. Other than that, Moltres was motionless.

I just defeated a Legendary Pokémon in battle.

The thought floated through his mind proudly as if it should have attracted full attention. Evidently the part of Wartortle's brain that sorted thoughts by importance was currently on vacation, because the words' significance was lost on him.

“Good fight,” he heard himself say. Then he released the tension in his neck muscles and face-planted into the rock.

Wartortle let three or four minutes pass him by. He seriously needed the reprieve. His body felt like it had been soaked in acid then wrung of every last drop, leaving a shriveled husk in a shell. Just desserts for a fool that had tried to hold something in his hand through an entire battle. Victini had designed the talisman to be worn on the cord, so that's what he should have done.

The heat of the volcanic rock against his face grew to be too much. As he stood and picked his way carefully over to Quil, Wartortle scanned the rock where the talisman might have fallen. There was no hint of orange among the blackness, nor any silhouette amid the lava flows. The talisman could quite possibly have been fully absorbed into the flows. Or it had bounced off the peak. Or fallen into a crevice. Since he hadn't noticed when or where he'd dropped it, the talisman could be anywhere.

He extracted one of the blue Oran Berries from the backpack's rugged pouches. Understandably, it was warm to the touch. He pulled open his friend's rounded snout and placed the berry between his teeth. Quil groaned as Wartortle closed his mouth for him.

“Chew this Quil, it's an Oran.”

The Quilava's fires sputtered to life as he blinked his groggy eyes and continued chewing. Wartortle smiled as the berry worked its magic. He refrained from enjoying one himself since the berries were so valuable, but he wanted Quil conscious for whatever came next.

As he scanned the area for signs of Victini, he was taken aback to see Moltres crouching on her talons, staring at him. Though she did not show vim and vigor, she'd nonetheless recovered more swiftly than any Pokémon he'd yet encountered. Fitting, for a Legendary. She made no move but to study him with her eyes. Wartortle approached, ready to use his water should she initiate another battle. He made an effort to lift his tail to prevent it from dragging. Without the talisman, none of his attacks could normally bring him victory against the Legendary, but she had to be very weakened at the moment. Theoretically.

“You defeated me,” she said in a tone as robust as before the fight. “Even having not achieved your Blastoise and Typhlosion forms, you were my match.”

Quil joined Wartortle, rising to his hind legs at his side. A quick glance revealed that his expression was uncertain, even disbelieving.

Moltres went on. “You battle unlike every challenger who has come to Iyrodenin's peak. Your techniques and movements were clever. Tactical. You came equipped. You communicated.” She focused her intense gaze on Wartortle. “In the latter half, you displayed power and proficiency that I have rarely seen. Know that impressing me is very difficult. I misjudged you. I will listen to you speak.”

Coming from Moltres, the praise was a serious, even somber affair. But never had he been more pleased to hear a Pokémon tell him how unlike other Pokémon he was. When a Legendary said them, the isolating words felt like a compliment for the first time. Wartortle smothered a bashful grin. They had earned an audience before Moltres of the Legendary Birds. Now was no time for vulnerability or levity.

He glanced at Quil again. Same stunned face. Wartortle would have to take point in the conversation. What to say though? He sorted priorities in his mind and worked out important topics to raise.

“First, thank you for your generous praise, Moltres. The battle was a helpful learning experience.” Well-mannered respect would be a good start. If any Pokémon favored tradition and propriety, it would be one that had lived through countless generations.

Moltres' beak dipped in such a small motion as to be nearly imperceptible. So far, so good! Wartortle thought to himself.

“Moltres, why would Fire-types be boosted if you accepted Victini's power? I don't understand the connection.”

“Are you familiar with Wooper Lake?”

“I am!” Quil put in, his voice a contradictory mix of caution and enthusiasm. “It's a big lake that makes the northern border of Steady Steppe. Lots of rivers and streams from the mountains dump into it.”

Moltres lifted her head and gazed off the southwestern edge of the crater. “Imagine that all children of my element reside in Wooper Lake. Every Pokémon in this world that draws upon Fire. The ultimate source of that Fire would be the great mountain ranges of this island. And the conduit that links them, the rivers. The power of Fire steadily flows into the lake by these surface flows, but sometimes their state can be drastically altered by external forces. An offshoot diverting potential lake-water elsewhere. A heatwave drying them up. A severe rainstorm flooding the rivers.”

She returned her focus to Wartortle and Quil. “I am that conduit. Victini's power is one of those external forces. As one of the rivers feeding the lake, a metaphorical heavy rainfall upon me would bolster my flow. The lake's volume would increase and its waters grow more turbulent. That is the simplest analogy I can construct for you.”

Wartortle folded his short arms. “So you're not the source of Fire, but you're tied to it. What affects you can also affect your element.”

“Is it the same way for Zapdos and Articuno?” asked Quil. “They are both, uh, real, right?”

“Yes. And yes.” Her tone was condescending. Uh-oh. Condescension could quickly give way to irritation. Wartortle was going to shoot Quil a subtle warning glance, but he had already gotten the message. His mouth was firmly shut and his eyes averted.

“You said 'Every Pokémon in this world',” Wartortle said. “Where in the world are we?”

“A very large island. Far from any mainland. Humans,” she lingered venomously on the word, “call it Preserve Alpha.”

A hundred facts clicked sequentially in Wartortle's brain, a chain reaction of enlightening realizations. Preserve Alpha. Of course it would be Preserve Alpha.

Preserve Alpha was the largest and also the most removed reserve on the planet. The roughly circular island was host to a diversity of climates and biomes, as Wartortle had seen for himself. Unlike most other protected reserves, Preserve Alpha's policy was 'Absolutely No Humans Allowed'. No ecological studies. No hidden research stations. No tourism. The policy was the strictest of all the reserves. Being isolated in the middle of the ocean helped to enforce the policy, despite the availability of high-speed aerial and aquatic transportation that human society had nowadays. To his knowledge, no human had set foot on the reserve in decades, maybe centuries. It was to exist completely naturally. To be an untouched bastion for the evolution of natural Pokémon in all possible senses of the word.

Since recovering the majority of his memories, Wartortle had suspected that he may have ended up in a Pokémon preserve. This being Preserve Alpha validated that conjecture, as well as cleared up countless mysteries. It explained why Quil had never heard of humans. It explained why there was no sign at all of human influence. Why Pokémon culture was so thoroughly 'Pokémon'. The existence of unique flora found nowhere else, like Blast Seeds and Heal Seeds. The mixing of Pokémon endemic to disparate regions. An active volcano of which he'd never heard. And more.

Quil hip bumped into his shell. “I've never heard of Preserve Alpha or humans,” he said with subtle emphasis.

Right. Wartortle's reaction was highly suspicious, for an ostensibly 'ordinary Pokémon'. Moltres was answering their questions. They did not need the focus of the conversation to change to Wartortle. He quickly raised another question as he felt Moltres' gaze bear down upon him.

“Why here? Why did you choose this place to live?”

“Humanity is absent.” Wartortle blinked. She did not elaborate.

Okay then. I'll try not to take offense to that. “Zapdos and Articuno also live on this island right? Is there a reason you stay near each other when you can fly anywhere in the whole world?”

Moltres' pause was longer than usual. Her wings shifted on her back, tossing up embers and a fresh wave of heat. “You cannot understand. I have lived through eons. I have explored this planet many times over. Pokémon have endlessly hatched and died around me while I remain untouched by the inevitability of time. My life is removed from the happenings of this world in a way that very few beings can understand. Fewer still can relate to the way I experience existence.”

“Must be lonely,” Quil murmured. If Moltres heard, she did not react.

“I enjoy sharing the company of neither Articuno nor Zapdos. Our temperaments conflict. Nonetheless we will always be a trio. We are the only beings of this world that each fully empathize with the lives the other two have been given. I would never greatly separate myself from them. Nor would they from me.”

“We currently pass our time on this island because we share a distaste for, and distrust of humans,” she added like an afterthought.

Hm. Informative and honest answer, if sad. He peered up at Moltres' stately face, trying to detect a glimmer of melancholy. All he saw was patient attention. I'm surprised she's willing to take the time to answer all our questions when she initially jumped right into a furious attack. We'd better wrap this up in case she abruptly loses interest before the critical discussion: stopping the boost.

Quil's expression reflected the gloom he'd expected to see in Moltres, but he did not appear to have any questions to ask. Victini was nowhere to be seen, though with invisibility, he was more than likely hovering right there and listening to the conversation in full. Or he might just now be finding the talisman and bringing it over to Moltres. They might be interrupted at any moment by Moltres becoming boosted by Victini's power, thus ruining their goal in coming to Iyrodenin. The time had come to cut to the chase.

“Thank you for answering our questions, Moltres.” He swallowed, preparing his best speech-giving voice. In other circumstances he would have asked Quil to speak, but Moltres was the wrong audience for Quil's style. An emotional appeal, forging a personal connection between Pokémon, was not going to work on the ancient, solemn Legendary.

“As you know, we came here to prevent Fire-types from being boosted in power. We, in fact, are the founders of a movement called the Resistance which is dedicated to alleviating the negative results of the current imbalance of Types. Oppression. Pain. Hopelessness. Jealousy. Distrust. Of course these all occur in a balanced world, but the boosting of Electric-types and more recently Ice-types has greatly exacerbated them. The Resistance can and has been successfully combating these ill effects. Once I realized that the Legendary Birds might be connected, Quil and I set out to find the source and return things to normal once and for all.”

Moltres watched him speak. Her beak was shut, head crest burning steadily. She was unreadable, even more so than other Flying-types.

“Moltres, I have no doubt that Victini will come back and offer you another of his talismans. For whatever game he's playing, or whatever reason he might have. Please, do not accept it.”

“Please,” added Quil. “I'm a Flame, and I still don't want this boost. It would just make things worse.”

For a long moment, the peak was quiet. Only the languid bursting of lava bubbles and the ocean breeze made any noise. Moltres seemed to actually be reconsidering the proposal. When she spoke, however, Wartortle's face fell.

“No. I intend to receive this 'boost'. You have already heard me declare how important this event is to me. Were you as old as I, you would appreciate the value of every significant change, regardless of its potential for benevolence or malevolence. Be at ease knowing that no change lasts forever.”

Wartortle cut the air in front of him with the claws of one hand. “If the boost lasts even a year, that is an immense amount of suffering that you could have prevented!”

“One year. A blink of my eyes.”

Wartortle couldn't stop a snarl at her indifference. To that, too, Moltres appeared indifferent. She said, with a glance at Quil, “I look to the coming prosperity of my children with anticipation. However, if you wish to mitigate the turmoil caused by the changes, as you say, I recommend you meddle with the affairs of my counterparts. End their 'boosts'. I encourage you to do so. Your interference would make these times even more interesting.”

That was not what Wartortle had expected. Moltres was openly encouraging them to backstab Zapdos and Articuno on her behalf. Apparently there was no love lost among the Legendary Birds. He exchanged a look with Quil. This, even after her speech about Legendaries sticking together? The unique empathy they shared? Was this a trap of some kind?

“Oh. I see.” Wartortle said, confused.

Moltres let out a single, soft screech. “Pokémon like you two are uncommon. You especially, Wartortle. Together you may find success. Being the only one with a stone of Victini's would prove amusing.”

“How do we find them, Moltres?” Quil asked.

“I will tell you where they roost. Zapdos may be found on the island's southwestern coastline. Look for the tall formation of jagged rock rising alone amid the plain. From the ground, it can be seen for many miles. At its peak, you may find Zapdos. On the island's northeastern coastline, a narrow, mountainous peninsula reaches into the sea. A fortress of ice rests at the peninsula's tip. There you may find Articuno.”

The Legendary Birds must have a thing for high places with ocean views, thought Wartortle while keeping any mirth from his expression. The given directions were nonspecific but nonetheless practical. They would do. The locals would be able to point them in the right direction if they needed it, anyway. The locations sounded like well-known landmarks.

“Understood,” he said, and Quil expressed his thanks.

“I believe Victini has chosen to not reveal himself again in your presence. I have spoken my mind, and you yours. Leave my volcano.”

Wartortle turned to Quil, seeing a rising desperation on par with his own in his friend's face. All in all, they'd accomplished nothing save for learning a few useful facts. Fighting Moltres would do no good; without a talisman they would lose for certain and then be forcibly removed from Iyrodenin. But if they left peaceably, she would be boosted by Victini. The little Legendary would be on guard this time around for any ambush or attempted thievery. No doubt he'd become invisible at the first sign of trouble. Even if the pair succeeded at interrupting them or stealing a talisman, Victini would vanish and make another for Moltres once he was assured they had left.

Any way Wartortle sliced it, the Fire boost was inevitable. He looked up to Moltres and opened his mouth to ask her to reconsider accepting the boost. No convincing argument was forthcoming. There was no twist he could add, no bait to dangle in front of her beak.

Moltres must have sensed him floundering. “Now.” Her great wings unfurled with an accompanying wash of warmth. Not five minutes prior she'd been laid low, yet now her shakiness was gone and her fires whipping vigorously with the breeze.

Quil turned to scamper away from the Legendary's threat. Wartortle gave a bow of his head before following. He descended from the volcanic crater, away from Moltres and Victini. Away from the origin of the impending Fire boost. The calamity was beyond their power to stop.


	38. Rival

Wartortle and Quil descended down the eastern face of Iyrodenin until the strangling pressure that emanated from Moltres had completely diminished. Since the lava flows could shift in their course with little warning, they elected to head toward the base where there was plenty of breathing room between the flows.

“I must have misunderstood the conversation,” Quil said. “It sounded like you beat Moltres after I was knocked out.”

Wartortle recalled the power of Victini's talisman as it had infused his being. That terrible confidence that he had ascended beyond anything a Legendary Pokémon might throw at him.

“I did, Quil. When you produced your Smokescreen, I found the talisman Moltres had dropped. Once I grabbed it...” He trailed off. How could he explain what had happened? What he had done? Quil probably wouldn't even believe him. Wartortle wouldn't believe it if their roles had been reversed. “The energy stored inside let me win,” he said, keeping it simple.

“Oh, don't be like that! What did the energy do? What was it like?”

Wartortle glanced back at the smoky peak. Any moment, Moltres could be receiving a talisman. Fire-types would be boosted. Quil would be boosted.

“I think you'll experience it for yourself soon enough. Actually,” he amended himself, “I doubt it will be the same. The boosts we've seen have only affected the power of techniques associated with that element. When I touched the talisman, I felt like everything about me was boosted. Speed, stamina, physical strength, balance, all of my moves' power, you name it. Anything was possible.”

“Wow!” Quil leaped over a fledgling lava flow only a few inches wide. “That makes sense with what she was saying about Wooper Lake and the rivers. Moltres herself would be boosted, but only the fire that Flames make is also boosted.”

“Did you see that Victini can turn himself invisible?”

“I thought so!” Quil said with shrill excitement. “I didn't trust my eyes, but you saw it too? So Victini can fly, turn invisible, and overload 'mon with energy. Amazing! Moltres is still better though. Come on, she was incredible. My mother and father would run away in shame if they saw her flames.”

“Quil, you sound awfully happy given that we failed after coming all this way from Cavetown.”

His friend's grin faltered only momentarily. “True, but Wartortle, we saw two Legendaries. We talked to one of them. We battled Moltres, one of the Legendary Birds. I never thought I'd see her except when I dream of epic battles between 'mon from stories.” He chuckled while shaking his head. “No one will believe us.”

He had a point. “I suppose it is remarkable, coming face to face with two Legendaries like that. I should be grateful for the experience.”

Quil's eyes were unfocused. Reliving the battle, if Wartortle were to guess. His own thoughts turned inward. Was there any way for them to stop the boost, while they were still at the volcano? Even now, Victini might be handing over one of his charms to Moltres. Though it was possible Victini might still be waiting for them to leave Iyrodenin behind to prevent further interruptions. That's what Wartortle would do, were he in Victini's shoes. It was perfectly possible that Victini was tailing them right now to ensure they left the volcano. Likely, even, the more he thought about it. He could picture the little Legendary floating close enough to hear their conversation, in order to stave off boredom. Any Pokémon that excitable was bound to require something to occupy their attention.

Wartortle felt puzzle pieces falling into place within his mind. Distinct pieces of information were coming together. Victini wouldn't know that Wartortle suspected him to be following. Nor would Victini know of any plans the pair had. Yes, he could use this. By the time they were halfway down the slope, his scheme was as complete as he foresaw it ever being.

When two parallel lava flows forced the pair closer together, he fell into step beside Quil instead of going single file. He muttered some instructions toward Quil's ear as quickly as he could. Seconds later, they were apart again. Wartortle gave it a moment for the words to sink in before raising a new topic of conversation.

“What do you think we should do next Quil?”

“Eh, I don't want to go searching for Articuno or Zapdos. Both of them are way too far away. I wish we could steal the talisman that Victini gives to Moltres, but Victini will be around to make her another one.”

Not bad. “Too true. Victini can't hang around Iyrodenin forever though, can he? What if we only pretended to leave? What if the instant that Fire-types become boosted, we find a great hiding place near the base of the volcano. Victini will think we're gone if he looks around to check. Then, after a couple of weeks, when he's flown far away, we climb back to the peak and steal the talisman in a surprise maneuver!”

Quil shot him a questioning glance. “That's actually a really good idea, Wartortle.”

“Thanks, Quil. Then that's what we'll do.”

His friend's expression grew strained as they silently continued their descent. Wartortle wanted to raise a new and meaningless topic of conversation to make the whole ploy seem more natural, but nothing came to mind. An awkward silence spread between them. Apparently neither of them were accustomed to this scale of deceit. He refrained from looking around. Any outward suspicion on his part would ruin the scheme. Besides, by definition, he would be unable to see an invisible Pokémon.

At last, they began to pass by the location on the slope he'd spotted from farther up. No flows of lava were anywhere nearby. The slope was empty of all obstructions and cover. Time to see if they'd bluffed thin air, or an invisible Pokémon.

“I think I hear something,” Wartortle lied. “Attack!”

He spun around to face up-slope as his hands dropped to the rock. Quil was still facing down-slope. The Quilava sprayed embers from left to right in a quick sweep as Wartortle squirted water from his own left to right. The two semi-circles combined covered all three hundred and sixty degrees. Without stopping, both adjusted their angles upward for another full circle of coverage higher off the ground. The concentration of Quil's embers was too low to do any damage, Wartortle noticed, but that was how he'd asked for it. The idea was to find Victini, not knock him out.

On the third rotation, he heard a yelp from Quil's coverage area. He cut off his Water Gun and looked to the source. Victini shimmered into visibility mid-retreat about fifteen feet away and thrice Quil's height off the ground. On his orange crest and one of his wing-like tails, two embers burst into flame before consuming themselves. Wartortle scrambled downhill to put their quarry between him and Quil.

“Great work Quil!” he said, while Victini shook himself in the air.

“Ow ow ow ow,” he repeated as the fires burned themselves out. Then his “Ow”s transitioned into chuckling. Then full-blown laughter.

Of course he's laughing, thought Wartortle with a roll of his eyes. It's impossible to rain on this Pokémon's parade.

Victini floated down to eye-level as his laughter subsided. “You got me, you got me. Stand where I can see you both; you're making me nervous!” Seeing Wartortle's expression, he added, “I won't run away, I promise.”

Neither Wartortle nor Quil moved. Victini sighed. “Are we going to have a civilized conversation, or a stand-off? I'm not talking with one of you always in my blind spot.” He crossed his arms after making the motion of zipping his mouth shut.

Wartortle frowned at the Legendary. Again, he was getting the feeling that Victini was unlike any other Pokémon he'd met. He'd experienced that feeling in Cavetown during their first meeting, and a little bit more while secretly observing Victini's interaction with Moltres. Now, it was stronger than ever. Even though he was a Legendary, a class of its own, Victini was unique. Moltres had not made Wartortle feel this way.

I do want to talk to him, he realized. Maybe more time with Victini will allow me to solve this riddle. He climbed up to Quil's side, past Victini.

The Legendary smiled. “I knew you'd see reason. After all, you had enough reason during your battle with Moltres. What with the strategy and all. And the targeted questions you were asking. And the tactic you used to break my invisibility. And figuring out the connection between the boosts and the Legendary Birds. Aaaand a hundred other itty-bitty instances. It's not how Pokémon are, especially not on this island. All those examples add up to spell out one word.”

“What are you saying?” Quil said in Wartortle's defense.

Victini eyed him. “Your pal's a human.”

Wartortle froze. How to react? Denial marked him as guilty. Agreement would be disadvantageous. Confusion, then. The most likely reaction from a Pokémon.

“What's a human?” he said, hating how stiffly his words came out.

“Pfft, get a load of this guy! So, 'Wartortle', who are you really?” He made air quotes with both hands. “Lab security? Unova Delta Operations? Some schmuck who volunteered to be the second human ever to undergo a transferal?”

Wartortle shook his head, overwhelmed. How could Victini figure out he was a human when no one even knew about humanity? How could Victini know that Unova had an elite strike force team, or know what laboratories were? How could...unless--

“You're human too!”

Victini closed his eyes and spread his orange hands, palms up. “I am. And proud of it! But don't tell the Legendary Birds, I don't think they like us very much.”

“But you're Victini,” Quil said. “A Legendary 'mon can't be human. That's not right. You can't be!”

“I don't expect your simple Pokémon brain to understand,” Victini returned before directing his full attention to Wartortle. “Are you going to be honest with me yet? I've been honest with you. Who are you, and why exactly were you sent?”

Wartortle refused to answer until he better understood what was going on, but Victini wasn't giving him any time to work it out.

“Fine,” the Legendary sniffed. “I'll go ahead and test one of my hypotheses then. Tell me, 'Wartortle', how long does it take for desynapsed human neurons to accept a brainstate imprint?”

“Eighteen minutes,” he immediately replied. How many times had he endured the infernal buzzing of the timer set to eighteen minutes? How many trials had he supervised on the lab benches? The number eighteen was impossible to forget.

Victini's mouth became an 'O' of shock. Then his body shuddered and his eyes squeezed shut as his mouth stretched into the biggest grin he'd yet worn. Still small, on a Victini.

“Yes! Yes! I was right!” A torrent of giggles buoyed him higher into the air. “Brayden! It's you! Only my fellow co-lead would answer that quickly and confidently. Oh, this is so perfect, so exciting!” He bounced in the air like a mad creature rattling against its cage.

Wartortle was searching his memories. Co-lead, co-lead. He could recall most of the lab staff, but not all, especially not the personnel involved in the project closer to that day he'd become a Squirtle. There was Mikael, the electrical engineer. You could always find his head in the hardware, hands never idle. Kathleen, a girl as sweet as she was focused. Other than the two project leads, she understood the neuroscience theory better than anyone. Brayden was one of the leads, obviously, but who was the other one? Someone brilliant. Someone ambitious. He mustered all of his concentration to try to recall the man's name, but the exercise was useless. His missing memories could not be restored by force of will.

“Sorry sorry,” Victini said as he floated back down. “It's this body, I swear. I get so excited! Anyway, let's get back on track. I see now why you've been trying to stop the boosts. You were Brayden the whole time! And now you've finally found the guy you've been searching for. What are you going to do about it?”

Wartortle spared a glance at Quil. He didn't have any idea what Victini was saying either, and why would he? Whatever Victini was talking about was related to humans and their world. The past. The lab research. If only he had access to his full memories, he might be able to understand what was happening!

His toe-claws tried to curl with his frustration, scratching the hard rock. “I don't understand, who are you?”

That gave Victini pause. “You can't remember? Really really, no joke?”

“I lost most of my memory when I woke up as a Squirtle. Still can't recall the details of that day. Could you please fill me in?”

“Uh, sure, sure I can. Nothing wrong with that. Is there? No. Let's start with what you do remember.”

“Alright,” Wartortle said as hope welled in his chest. Today he might finally be able to understand what had happened to him! While he felt a tad reluctant to share his vulnerability with the Pokémon who was responsible for the boosts, this was as good a chance as he was going to get. “I remember most of my early life. Shipping off to university when I turned ten, like everyone else choosing the academic path. Applying myself to neuroscience, psychology, eventually fixating on consciousness research. My old studies, past co-workers. The memories start getting hazy around the most recent publication my team put out. Our team, if you really are my co-lead at our lab in Castelia. I remember our research was beginning to bear fruit. I remember a major breakthrough on that day, but I can't remember what it was. I can't even remember what exactly we were trying to accomplish.”

“Mmm,” Victini droned. “I see. Give me a minute to think of how best to explain what happened, Brayden. I'll help you out.”

Wartortle nodded as Victini grasped his chin thoughtfully and his startling blue eyes lost focus. Quil flashed him a small smile even though the Quilava was clearly out of his element. Trying to work off some of his nervous energy, Wartortle took to pacing in front of the Legendary sitting in the air. Victini's explanation had the potential to change everything. Turn foe to friend. Or friends to foes. Why had he become a Pokémon? No, why had they both become Pokémon?

“Alrighty, Brayden old pal,” said Victini. “Let's start. Tell me if the name Tristan Pratts means anything to you.”

“Tristan. Tristan Pratts. Yes, that's very familiar. Taller man, black hair, glasses, liked to snag people's pens and put them in his lab coat pocket. He always found it hilarious when they finally noticed their own pens sticking out of his breast pocket. Tristan was very sharp, talented. In my field, too: consciousness. My most recent memories of him are from months ago thanks to my memory loss.” A realization zapped him like a static shock. “He joined my research team and became co-lead, didn't he? You...you must be him.”

Victini's expression was bittersweet. “Yeah. So you really don't remember me. Our friendship, our late hours together, it's mostly just a blank spot now, mm?” Victini took a deep breath. It lasted all of a half second due to his small frame.

Wartortle couldn't hide a wince. “I'm sorry. I never asked to lose my memories.”

“Oh, but you did, you did! Although, I don't think either of us thought of this particular consequence. Your memory loss sort of negates the whole purpose.”

What? I chose to lose my memories?

“Let me start from the beginning. You might not like what you're going to hear, Brayden, because you seem like a different man now. But I want to help you. Your memory loss has turned the tables, and I doubt you're faking it.” He shook his head. “I can't believe you went through with adding memory alteration parameters.”

“That's not the beginning,” Wartortle pointed out. He didn't want to become more confused than he was already.

“No it's not, sorry sorry.” Victini pointed at Wartortle then himself. “Back in Unova, you and I were brainstate researchers. You remember our paper coining that term? Alex, the photography nut with the Simisage pet, he used to call it 'a snapshot of a brain's consciousness'. Our work progressed to the practical applications of that concept. How can we transfer a brainstate from one brain to another? In layman's terms, putting people in different bodies. Even Pokémon bodies.”

Memories did not flood back to Wartortle, as part of him expected. His memory was truly absent, as Ralia the Gardevoir had suspected. Yet Victini's words rang of truth. That was what the team had been researching, and that application was a logical follow-up to mastering the theory behind brainstates. He felt a thrill, recalling the process of scientific research he used to perform day in and day out. He missed it, he realized.

“The experiments we had the interns run went well, really really well! Our team was making waves in Castelia. You and I, we bounced ideas off each other all day. We saw flaws in the experimental design that even Kathleen missed. We consulted other studies in fields related to consciousness to further refine the techniques our team was using. From computer science, to psychology, to biology, Tristan and Brayden were on top of it. We both craved success. We wanted to change the world, so badly!”

Wartortle felt an inkling of guilt for Quil having to sit through a retelling of some other duo's close bond and great successes. He let the guilt fade into the background though as Victini continued the story. This was everything. This was the crucial portion of his past, finally unveiled.

“Both of us were at home when the lab finally reported favorable results after midnight. Like a Lillipup smelling its dinner, we were on site in minutes. All night, we reviewed the results. By early morning, we'd confirmed that the brainstate transferal procedure was reversible, and free of errors. We were both out of our minds at the success. Weeks and months and years of dedication had paid off. In the thrill of the moment we decided to play a game using our new tech. I made a bet that I could throw an entire Pokémon reserve into chaos, eventually purging it of inhabitants, and that you couldn't stop me. You agreed.”

“What?!” Wartortle said as Quil's mouth fell open. “That's ridiculous! I would never agree to that, and I don't think you would make the stakes that insane.”

“Like I said,” Victini went on, “you're different now. I didn't think you'd believe me at first. But you and I, we go way back. We were always making friendly wagers and trying to outdo each other. I wish you could remember.”

He did remember, in part. None of the more recent developments, but he recalled the friendly, perhaps even cocky rivalry they shared. Even so, there was no way they could have agreed to do something as profoundly maniacal as that.

“The reason I suggested such an outrageous bet is because of how mega-incredible our breakthrough was. Now that we can transfer brainstates at our lab, we have functional immortality. You see now? The world is ours! We can transfer ourselves into our genetic clones once our prime has passed. Or we can transfer ourselves into new bodies. People can even use the bodies of their favorite Pokémon! Health, vigor, fantastic abilities – we've both experienced it first-hand. Consciousness was the conundrum stalling advances in medicine and so many other fields for decades. We solved it. The world is ours now, it's all ours!”

What did one say to that? Victini's crazed reaction initially struck him as disproportional to the feat, but upon further examination, it wasn't. It really wasn't. Victini, or Tristan, was perfectly correct. If they had indeed gotten the brainstate transferal process working, then human society had entered a new era. One in which lifetimes were endless. Bodies could be shed like worn-out clothes. All walks of life, even those of Pokémon, could be trod by the same individual. Cloning technology had been a nifty advancement, but clone bodies were mostly useless to their parents. Until now.

Victini sounded like a mad scientist, but he had only responded with the same amount of exuberance that the occasion merited.

“Why make the bet about ruining a protected reserve?” Wartortle asked. “I understand we were excited, but isn't making a bet like that...off topic?”

“Not at all!” said Victini, spinning twice in the air. “Brayden, what are the biggest issues facing our world today?”

“Overpopulation. Insufficient land for continued urbanization. De--”

“Stop right there. You see why I made that bet? Why I'm working toward this island's annihilation? Humanity can't afford to let reserves like this one remain protected. Not anymore. With this technology loose in society, death by all causes but a few will be eliminated. Our overpopulation problem will explode in severity. Our need for more space and development will rise by correlation. Humans need this land. Once I clear it out, there's no way society will let it go to waste again as a reserve.”

Victini rubbed the back of his head with a hand as he continued in a coy tone. “I know, I jumped the gun in making that bet and coming here as soon as we found out the tech works. But you can't remember how excited we were!”

“Excited enough to exterminate thousands of Pokémon?!” Wartortle yelled. “You're trying to erase an original, unique culture! To cause suffering and death on a scale never before seen in history!”

Victini floated backward in apparent surprise at Wartortle's reaction. “Wow, is that really the perspective you have now Brayden? Don't you remember the poverty, the horrible living conditions in places like the suburbs outside Castelia? I'd call them slums, personally. They're everywhere! We both know people affected by it. Humans need the land that this reserve offers.”

“I remember,” Wartortle nearly spat. “But this isn't the answer!”

Victini looked at Wartortle with his bright blue eyes as if baffled. “We've changed the world forever. Our names will be memorized and our work studied by the children of future generations. Humanity is on its way to divinity.”

He let out a disbelieving chuckle. “And you're fretting over a deserted island? What I'm trying to do now, a bet you took me up on I might add, is nothing in comparison to what we've already achieved in the lab. This is a vacation. One we both really really needed after all the hard work we've done. Why are you so worked up over this place?”

“Quil is my best friend,” Wartortle snarled at Victini. “I have met Pokémon who are better 'people' than any human I know. This island--” He couldn't find the words to express his emotions. What was he going to accomplish anyway? Victini's mind would not be changed by him sharing his personal experiences as a Pokémon. “I can't begin to describe how atrocious this bet is. I refuse to believe I played along.”

Victini raised an arm to point at Quil, though his eyes remained on Wartortle. “Look at that Quilava, Brayden. You know you're not like him. All this time in a Pokémon body, I'm sure you've experienced the differences in our brains' architecture, just like me. Pokémon can't think beyond their instincts. Look at his dull eyes, the simple emotions on his face.”

Quil growled at that. Victini eyed him warily, but did not stop his verbal degradation. “They're entertaining to watch in sport, amicable as pets, yada yada, but their monopolization of preserves like this one are an obstacle to human progress at the end of the day. To human life. They're lowly, dumb creatures.”

The fires of an Ember attack lit Quil's open mouth. “No!” Wartortle cried. “We need him!” Quil twitched to ruin his aim at the last second. A flurry of embers scorched the air and rock on Victini's left.

“If we try to fight him, he'll just become invisible and leave,” Wartortle finished in a low voice. “I still want to hear the rest of the story.”

Victini watched the embers burn themselves out before giggling and turning back to Wartortle. “See what I mean?”

“What happened after we supposedly agreed on the bet?” Every now and then, when the thought of what Victini was trying to do rose to the forefront of his mind, Wartortle shivered with restrained emotion. Those emotions could wait.

“Righty-right, the bet.” Victini appeared to gather his thoughts with a content smile. “I picked Victini since I read that it was a powerful Legendary with abilities conducive to achieving my goal. Its natural personality and instinctual tendencies are similar enough to my own, too, all things considered. You, though, oh you. You really blew my mind at the time. You were so arrogant!”

“I chose Squirtle.” He did not remember the decision, but obviously that's the Pokémon he'd chosen. Why though, when the Legendary Victini was his contender?

Victini nodded. “You said you didn't need the power of a Legendary to win. You declared that a Squirtle body would be good enough to stop me. Do you remember how haughty you were? You chose a Pokémon given to wucky widdle Twainers in Kanto when they start their pointless journeys.”

I chose Squirtle...out of arrogance? To prove myself better than my co-worker?

“After that, I tried to make it easier on you to rebalance the scales. I named our battleground Preserve Alpha, because the biggest Pokémon reserve would be the most difficult for me to annihilate. Then, oh--” He burst into giggles. After calming himself as Wartortle watched with growing trepidation, he continued. “Then, to one up me, you said you didn't even need your memories to stop me. That you'd eventually figure out everything that was happening with your so-called genius intellect. I didn't think you'd go through with that boast, but here we are. You've lost your memories after all. Color me impressed!” He laughed once more.

No. No. His memories had been damaged by his own hand? He'd spent hours agonizing over the reason his memory was fragmented. His early nights had been tormented by the question: Why? Why am I here? Why has this happened to me? The answer was not deep or mysterious. The answer was not even meaningful.

A boast. To brag about his intelligence. All of his anguish had been unknowingly self-inflicted. Setting the brainstate transferal machinery's parameters to shatter his memory during the transfer to the Squirtle body had probably been quite easy. A few keystrokes for a devastating effect.

What kind of person had he been, destroying a large part of his identity for the sake of a bet? That sounded like the pinnacle of arrogance. And to allow Tristan to incite bedlam and ruin in an isolated reserve? What he planned to ultimately accomplish was unspeakable. Even encouraging him to take a Legendary Pokémon's body was awful. Had he really been that kind of person? Pretentious? Careless? Merciless toward the lives of Pokémon?

“How did we get these bodies for the brainstate transfer.” His voice sounded stony in his own ears.

“Oh, you probably ordered a hollow Squirtle body from some bio lab,” said Victini with a wandering gaze. Evidently he was uninterested in or indifferent to these particulars. “Squirtle are a species that modern biology understands very, very well. Mapped the genome, epigenome, and every other 'ome'. Remember that much?”

Wartortle nodded slightly. Most species had been thoroughly studied by Pokémon biologists, even though their moves and capabilities were not yet fully understood. Scientists had gained the know-how to grow or clone many Pokémon bodies from scratch. Soulless shells with no consciousness. Great for anatomical studies. Of the few Legendary Pokémon that were confirmed to exist however, very few had been studied in any detail. Most were theorized to be unique individuals, not species. Wartortle did not know much about Legendaries; they had been neither his field of study nor object of interest.

“From there,” Victini went on, still smiling, “I bet you delivered the Squirtle body to this island from a high-altitude air drop, or maybe you had it assembled here?” He shrugged, a gesture Wartortle hadn't seen in a long time. “I don't know much about the process so I can't say. And now neither can you since you dumped your memories during the brainstate transferal.”

From what I can picture of this island, Root Forest is near the center of it. That explains why I put myself there. The middle is a great place to start, to survey and select a direction. “And your body?” Wartortle prompted.

“I had to hijack an existing Victini body. Not sure how many there are in the world, if there's even more than one.” He waved a hand in nonchalance. “I looked up some information and discovered there was a Victini being studied in a facility that happened to be near Preserve Alpha. I admit it's a shame its consciousness is gone now, replaced by mine. Its 'soul', so to speak. Who knows how old it was?” He shrugged again, looking embarrassed. “We should try not to...intrude on the lives of Legendaries, I think. They're not as worthless as ordinary Pokémon.”

“You monster,” Quil growled with palpable hatred.

“Is there any more to the story,” Wartortle said tonelessly. He had passed anger. Only a frosty determination remained.

“Hmm,” said Victini. “Yes, you gave me a head start, too, you crazy guy. You really shouldn't have; I'm winning the bet as of right now! When did you get here?”

“Lightning storm,” Wartortle said.

“Ha, that means by the time you'd arrived, I'd already learned how my powers work, designed my talisman scheme, had them shaped to look like my cute face, ascertained Zapdos' location, and given all the Electric-types of the world a boost. Once all three boosts are in place, I can move onto the real destruction. You won't win this bet, Brayden!”

In the wake of Victini's delighted laughter, anesthetized by shock and disbelief, Wartortle stared into the black rock by his feet and made himself a cold resolution. No matter who he had been, and no matter why all of this had happened, Victini needed to be stopped.

“I don't like the look on your face, not one bit,” Victini said. “Once we get you your memories back in Castelia, I'm sure we can be friends again and keep achieving great things together. Until then, are we still on for this bet, now that you know what happened? Or are you giving up? It's okay to admit defeat once in a while, Brayden.” He smirked, as if he were teasing an old friend.

Wartortle replied with words like daggers. “I do not give up. You will lose.” He met the eyes of his former friend, coworker, and partner. “Quil and I will stop you.”

Victini bit his lip and drew back. “You're still determined, hm? Even after hearing the circumstances of our arrival here.” He murmured his last few words, making them barely audible. Wartortle was unsure of what exactly he said, but the last words sounded like “...couldn't break you.”

For a moment, no one moved. Wartortle stared at Victini, and Victini stared back with the expression of someone who had been stumped by a riddle.

“Well,” said Victini with no trace of a smile. His form darkened as the color of the slope's rock seeped through from behind. “Good luck.”

Wartortle drew from his Pool, but Quil was far quicker. A blur of fur and flame launched toward Victini as he disappeared. Fast as he was, Victini had become fully invisible by the time Quil arrived. He landed the attack, but it was a glancing blow. Quil stumbled, spinning off to the side from the contact with the unseen body. A distortion moved away from the point of contact, rising into the sky as it faded. Wartortle's Bubble streaked unchallenged through the air, probably just missing Victini. The bubbles each glistened in the sunlight before popping ineffectually in the distance.

In the silence that followed Victini's departure, Quil looked at Wartortle. A mix of emotions stewed on the Quilava's face. He opened his mouth twice, and both times he closed it again.

With calm, deliberate movements, Wartortle laid himself down on the slope of the deserted mountainside before withdrawing into his shell.


	39. Warmth

The shadow of Iyrodenin lengthened into the rocky desert to the east. The dark rock beneath Wartortle's belly scutes never fully cooled. The surface of the volcano was heated from within. If he strained his hearing, the hiss of Quil's rear flames were noticeable. That meant his friend, standing a few paces away, had his back to Wartortle. Neither spoke. Exactly how Wartortle wanted it. He had a mountain of information to process, and his silent darkness was one of the best environments for that.

Wartortle was not the only human in these lands, which he knew now from the words of both Moltres and Victini to be Preserve Alpha. Tristan Pratts was here too, wearing the stolen form of Victini. His goal was the antithesis of what Wartortle and Quil had been striving for. An unimaginable, heinous goal. The confinement and thievery at Blindhollow, the hindrance of the evolution ceremony at Needleloft, the refugees, the radical and unnatural shifting of power in the wilderness – all of the problems that Wartortle knew of and all of those that he did not were mere harbingers of the atrocities Victini planned. Wartortle had no idea how Victini intended to proceed, following the boosting of all three Legendary Birds, but he was aware that Victini possessed both the ambition and ability to bring about his awful vision. He'd proven that with the calamities he'd already caused on Preserve Alpha.

More than ever before, Wartortle was needed. He was the only individual on the planet who knew as much about what was happening as Victini did. No one else could don the mantle of responsibility. If he failed, nothing would stand between Victini and his goals. As much as he liked and respected Quil, the words and concepts exchanged in the conversation were probably too foreign for his friend to properly understand. This was a human problem. No Pokémon, no matter how strong, tough, charismatic, or determined, would be able to triumph against Victini's clever designs. For this mission, lives were at stake. Wartortle could not afford to shirk his work. If he ignored Victini or ran away, others would pay. Everyone would pay. Every Pokémon he had ever seen or met since waking up as a Squirtle. Now was the moment above all others to take action.

Wartortle stayed in his shell. A cool gust from the sea rolled by. Quil said nothing. Wartortle said nothing.

He loathed who he had been. The mere thought of what he had done thoroughly disgusted him. All of it had been a game, everything caused by a whim during a celebration. Everything. Victini's body theft. Wartortle's decision to become a Pokémon. His memory loss. Waking up alone in a forest. The boosts and their horrible impact. Had Wartortle truly allowed all of it for the sake of a heat-of-the-moment bet? Encouraged it, even, by upping the ante with his selection of a Squirtle body and choice to lose all recent memory? He just couldn't believe it. As a human, sure, he'd been proud of certain outstanding traits of his: intelligence, diligence, ambition, to name a few. Had the lab's breakthrough inspired him to flaunt them so? To engage in a friendly competition with the fate of thousands of Pokémon at stake? The idea was sickening.

If Quil walked away right now, he would not be surprised. Wartortle had been a horrible person. His cavalier attitude had allowed the boosts to occur. The struggles and sacrifices endured by the Resistance were caused, in part, by the person he had been. He should be an enemy of all Pokémon. If all the Pokémon of Preserve Alpha knew the truth, Wartortle would not be welcome anywhere, and rightfully so. Quil was a good Pokémon through and through. If he were Quil, he'd be seething with hatred, marveling at how someone could care so little about others' lives. Wartortle deserved to be left behind. 

From the life he could recall prior to the memory gaps, Wartortle knew he did not feel the same way as Victini about Pokémon. Yes, protected reserves like this one meant reduced land available for human use. But he had never resented the creatures. He had never despised the way that instinct guided their thoughts and actions much more powerfully than in humans, nor how prominently fighting featured in their lifestyle. Now that he'd lived the life of a Pokémon, he even preferred this life in some ways. The thrill, the vitality and power, the simplicity. Had the old Brayden known what he knew now, he would never have agreed to the bet with Tristan.

There might come a time when human society would choose to develop the land of Preserve Alpha for human use. Urbanize it. He and Victini had changed the world forevermore by the creation of the brainstate transferal process. Humanity's need for land would increase significantly. Any effort on the part of Wartortle, Quil, or the Resistance was a delay of the inevitable. However, Victini's methods were abhorrent. The man-turned-Pokémon needed to be stopped by someone. Even if a deplorable individual like Wartortle was the most suitable candidate.

The cool of dusk washed over his skin as he emerged from his earth-warmed shell. Quil faced north, away from Wartortle. His dark blue fur broke up his outline against the sea. He stood tall on his hind legs, statuesque but for the quivering flames.

“Is it all true?” The breeze carried his soft words to Wartortle's ears.

“Maybe.” He let out a breath through his nostrils. “Probably. I'll never regain the lost memories of those final months, but...I see no holes in Victini's report of what happened.”

Quil ducked his head to the side and looked at Wartortle with one ruby eye, before turning back to the sea. “All this trouble is because of a game between you and Victini?”

“Seems that way,” Wartortle's posture sagged as he replied in a voice so low he doubted Quil had heard him. Quil sighed before laughing once. A moment later, his face came into Wartortle's downcast view. Wartortle followed Quil's eyes as he rose to his hind legs.

“I wonder what that makes me, if a mean and arrogant human calls me his best friend?” A small smile. “Joking. I don't care what you were like before; I know you're a good 'mon now.”

“What?” Wartortle actually felt a touch of frustration at Quil's reaction. “You can't forgive someone like me that easily. I deserve much worse.” 

The Quilava tilted his head and paused, considering. “But you're not like that anymore. What Victini said about the way you were on the day you became a Squirtle feels wrong to me. I bet he was exaggerating or lying. You know, I'd say that 'mon is a Shadow or Psychic. He sounded like a sneaky one, even if he looks like a Fairy.” He blinked and refocused on Wartortle. “Anyway, what's next for us?”

“Quil. How are you...you can't...Quil, I'm responsible for all this. I was a terrible person. I treated the lives of every Pokémon here like toys.”

Quil shook his head. “I don't trust Victini, and even if you were as bad as he said, that doesn't matter anymore. You're different now. We're partners now! So, how are we going to permanently end all the boosts?”

Wartortle stared at his friend. How lucky I am, to have met a Pokémon like Quil, he thought before inhaling deeply of the salt-tinged breeze.

“Fine, you win. First let's ensure we're alone.” After their gyre of fire and water confirmed that the air around them was empty, Wartortle continued in a voice low enough to be heard only by Quil.

“I think we should do as my past self wanted, my original intent in coming here. Stop Victini. Maybe the old Brayden truly did treat this as a game, but it never was. Victini's plans culminate in the destruction of all life in these lands. We cannot allow him to advance his goals beyond having three active boosts. That means we have to stop him as soon as possible.”

Quil watched him with ears pricked far forward. His face was grim as he nodded for Wartortle to continue.

“If our earlier deception worked correctly, Victini will think we're going to hide out near the base of Iyrodenin for a couple of weeks, then steal the talisman he's going to give to Moltres. When we don't show up, he'll know we're trying to steal Articuno's or Zapdos' talisman instead. All the more reason for us to move quickly. The other two Legendary Birds won't be expecting us like Moltres. We can steal or break their talismans, wait for Victini to come, then ambush him.”

He pounded a fist into an open hand. “We'll knock him out and prevent him from doing any more harm. From there, we'll take the other talismans at our leisure. That will stop the boosts. The key, though, will be taking Victini down. He's the source, the greatest problem. And he's very smart. We've seen how cautious he is.”

Quil chuckled. “I think I followed all of that. You realize this sounds like an idea hatched by an Aipom and an Infernape? Finding Articuno and Zapdos, ambushing an invisible 'mon, defeating four Legendaries in battles?”

Phrased like that, Wartortle did admit the plan was naively ambitious. What he said was, “You forget that we've already accomplished the impossible. Today we met two Legendaries, and--”

“Victini isn't really a Legendary Pokémon, if he's telling the truth.”

Wartortle waved a hand. “Fine, but we also defeated Moltres in a battle already.”

“That was mostly you, and only because of Victini's rock. The fight was basically Legendary versus Legendary.”

Wartortle gave him a level look, and Quil finally broke into a playful smirk. “Okay, okay, I believe in your plan. Do you want to find Zapdos or Articuno?”

“Hm.” Wartortle folded his arms. “Good question. Either of them would serve our purpose as the bait for our true target, Victini.”

“He said we're on this island's northern tip,” Quil pointed out. “Moltres said Zapdos is in the southwest and Articuno in the northeast. Articuno must be much closer.”

“And time's a luxury we don't have,” Wartortle finished. “Nice thinking. If we hug the coastline as we travel east, we won't be able to miss it. We'll run right into the mountainous peninsula Moltres mentioned.”

Quil fell to all fours and began walking further down the slope, and Wartortle joined him with a final remark. “We have to succeed, Quil. I need to atone for what I've done.”

Together they descended to the volcano's base. The shift from hardened black lava to orange soil and scattered pebbles was as abrupt a transition as Wartortle had ever encountered. One footfall fell onto smooth rock, the next onto yielding dirt. Iyrodenin's shadow vanished, taken by the arrival of night, as the pair took their first steps into the arid landscape. By their combined efforts, a shallow pit was soon cleared in the soil. Any deeper, and the fine soil on the sides would begin to collapse inward.

Wartortle was withdrawing his head into his shell when it shot back out from a sudden noise. Quil lifted his head. A shrieking cry pierced the cloudless night as easily as the moonlight. The sound had come from above. From Iyrodenin's peak.

“Moltres,” said Quil in a tone of contemplation.

The ground began to shake.

“Earthquake!” said Wartortle out of reflex.

“No,” Quil said, rising to his feet and scrambling out of the hole. “Eruption! Run!”

Wartortle leaped out of the pit, tearing his hands and feet through soil. He dashed further into the desert behind Quil's bounding run. That Quilava was fast when he needed to be. Whipping past wiry shrubs and jumping over the fractured rocks in his path, they rapidly distanced themselves from the volcano as the trembling of the ground worsened. Another sound from the peak, like a detonation, had Wartortle glancing backward as he ran. What he saw caused him to stumble and fall into some briar.

The hazy plume of smoke was gone, replaced by a rising column of red fumes as thick as Iyrodenin's summit. The red glow came from a dazzling fountain of red-hot lava hundreds of feet high. Particles ejected from the orange and yellow glow of the crater streamed fine trails of fiery red behind them, showering out of the smoke column to pepper the slopes. The tame rivulets of lava were being consumed by an outpouring of glowing magma from the peak. Already, the flow had cascaded halfway down the mountainsides.

A winged figure circled the eruption like a glorious, burning comet. Moltres shrieked once again, adding a high-pitched voice to the low roar of the earth's fury.

“Run, Wartortle, there's no time!” Quil urged, some twenty feet ahead.

He tore his gaze from the volcano and hurried to catch up. Seconds later, an eerie red haze infiltrated the sky overhead, spreading eastward, northward, southward. Every direction. In time with the haze, a wave of heat swept along the ground from the volcano, enfolding Wartortle as he ran. He staggered, feeling the hot air fill his throat and lungs, but did not fall.

The two ran farther into the arid land without stopping. As with the Electric storm and the Ice storm, the sky had been smothered by a sudden cloud cover. This time, the clouds resembled a stream of smoke from Iyrodenin. Their color was a luminous red, as if lit from below by a landscape engulfed by raging wildfires.

The temperature of the air steadily climbed. Wartortle's breaths came hot and heavy as he trailed Quil, who kept casting worried glances backward at Wartortle's slowing pace. The heat was not like sunlight beating down upon his skin, nor was it like the heat of exertion in a battle. Wartortle felt like he was in an oven. Radiant heat pressed against him from every direction. It was inescapable.

Desperately, he drew from his Pool and sprayed water into the air. The water splashed against his face, his shell, but it brought no relief. The droplets clung to him like beads of sweat.

“I can't,” he gasped to Quil as he came to a stop. “Need water. Need cold.”

Quil stopped as well. He looked perfectly healthy. The red glow from the sky matched his eyes, and his fires quivered with liveliness. “The ocean. You need the ocean. It looks like it's only a minute or two away. Let's go!” Fresh as an ignited matchstick, he dashed northward.

Wartortle followed at a pace much slower than he would have liked. His energy was flagging. When the ground beneath his hands and feet turned from soil to coarse sands, then to the lapping of sea foam, he dimly realized they'd reached the sea. He let his elbows and knees give way for the whitewater tide to carry him out. The cold water leeched the heat from his belly, and he sighed with relief. It was not enough though. He needed to be immersed.

“Find me when this is over, Wartortle!” called Quil from the beach. He stood a wary distance from even the moist sand. “I'll be up on these dunes!”

“I will!” Wartortle called back, as his friend retreated and a great wave collapsed upon him.

Submerged in seawater, he powered his tail and propelled himself away from the coast to escape the tumult caused by the breakers. Growing up in Castelia, he'd learned well how rough the waters could be where the ocean's waves met the beach. When he'd reached a calm spot on the sandy bottom, he allowed himself to sink down for a rest. Basking in the ocean's cold was more delicious than lemonade on a hot day in his old life. The salty flavor in his mouth and nostrils he could do without, but he was grateful that the salt did not sting his eyes.

For all the color and smoke he'd seen while running away from Iyrodenin, the visibility below the waves was stellar. Though the red from above the surface did seep into the water. He spotted two Staryu spinning about near the seafloor farther away in some incomprehensible dance. Then he noticed the blurring of water that kept stretching between them, marking the use of an underwater Water Gun. Wartortle propelled himself away from the battle before he got caught up in it. The battle with Moltres and heat of the eruption had drained him enough.

He was delighted to find that he could produce an underwater Water Gun of his own without using the water from his own body. Even after so long, and with no practice, the lessons of Keel the Marshtomp below the ferry came back to him with ease. He was even more delighted to find that his stream was far more controlled and forceful than those of the Staryu. Peering out to the red-tinged deeper waters, he spotted multiple dark shapes engaged in battle. They had bulbous bodies with long, swaying limbs. Tentacool? Octillery? Wartortle was interested to find out what sea Pokémon lived in these waters so far from Unova, but he needed to maintain a low profile. If he became too weakened in a fight, or even knocked out, Quil would go crazy with worry over what had happened to him beneath the waves.

The fight-or-flight instincts of these wild Pokémon are roused by the 'storm', just as I witnessed on my first day as a Squirtle, he thought after settling back down on the sandy bottom. The sea is no exception.

By a casual motion of his right hand and foot, he flipped himself belly-up to stare upward. The texture of the ocean's surface distorted the clouds, presenting any curious marine life with a scene straight out of a nightmare. The night sky was not the calm black it should have been. No moonbeams shone down into the sea. Instead, smoke roiled and an infernal red glow pervaded everything. Like the world above was ending in a fiery blaze, and the ocean was doomed to boil away.

I can only imagine how awful this must be for Pokémon susceptible to fire and heat, like Grass-types. Although, I suppose the heat is far more intense here due to the volcano's proximity. I would hope the grass of Blind Prairie so far away isn't spontaneously combusting. He frowned. Still, I'm sure this boost will be the cause of many fires tonight. And not only because of the heat.

Wartortle continued to wait beneath the surface in contemplation as the weather effects of the boost slowly subsided. Sleepiness threatened to make cotton of his mind, but he remained vigilant of his surroundings in order to evade potential combatants. Noticing approaching Pokémon was far easier in the empty ocean, he found, than almost anywhere on land. He popped his head out once for a few breaths of fresh, albeit hot air, and caught a glimpse of the volcano over the rolling waves.

The column of black smoke still rose from the peak into the faux clouds, but it was now dark and stagnant. The red and orange rivulets of lava on the slope were back, though even the black rock of the slopes glowed from heat. The entire volcano itself had been reconstructed. The mountain was much thicker, and the base of the eastern slope was farther east than it had been before the eruption. The portion of the desert that he and Quil had ran through to escape the eruption was now mostly covered in the black of cooled lava flows. Had they not ran when they did, and with speed, the lava would have covered them too.

Some minutes later, the overcast skies lost their ruddy luster. The clouds softened to an indistinct haziness. Wartortle stuck his head out to find the air was only as warm as the day. He withdrew into his shell in the shallows and allowed a wave to roughly deposit him onto the beach. Much as if he'd had a relaxing bath at the end of a long day of work as a human, he was now very ready for bed.

Quil was waiting atop a small sand dune near the beach as he'd said. Strangely, the Quilava was smiling even before he noticed a dripping Wartortle climbing up the sand toward him. His smile deepened into a grin when his eyes found Wartortle's. Not the sigh or relief or sleepy look he'd expected.

“Wartortle, I'm glad you're okay. I could feel how hot it was during the eruption.” An undercurrent of excitement ran beneath his words.

“Thanks. I'm happy to see you doing well, too. Though, I'm not surprised, considering fire is...” He froze, a few steps from the top of the dune. That was the source of Quil's elation. The boost. Wartortle eyed the flames atop Quil's head. They appeared to be normal.

“...your element,” he finished. Quil nodded, still wearing the smile.

“I don't have to feel inferior anymore, Wartortle. I don't have to feel worthless. Because I'm not, not anymore.” His eyes shone with inner fire. “You don't know what it was like, having an older brother so much tougher than you. So much better than you. Having your father shaking his head in disapproval when he thought you weren't looking.”

“Quil?” asked Wartortle. He climbed the rest of the way but found himself standing a bit farther away from his friend than normal.

“You know I never wanted to leave on my Pilgrimage. I always wanted to be able to live my life however I want. Not needing to strengthen my body or see the world. I wished I could shrug off everyone's overbearing, stupid expectations.” He chuckled. Quil had never chuckled like that before.

“Now I don't need to worry. Watch this.”

He dug his forepaws into the sand on the dune's crest, facing the ocean. Wartortle took a few steps backward as he watched the familiar inhalation, a wind-up for the Ember technique. Quil's mouth glowed with fire. He let loose.

A myriad of embers shot forth, at least five times as many as Quil had ever produced in one go. These were not the bright red motes of light that Wartortle had grown used to seeing. These had white-hot cores that left fiery trails of red in the air. Dark spots danced in his vision from the embers' afterimage. They did not flurry outward in elegant spirals, but instead streaked toward the sea in straight lines and with a speed that Wartortle would never have expected.

The embers pelted a cresting wave with audible reports, but the sound was immediately lost in the fiery explosions that resulted. The wave was blown apart into foam and droplets from the countless detonations, clearing the way for more embers to rain furiously down upon the water behind the wave. From the explosions, pillars of dense flame stretched upward, shedding curls of hot steam as they grew. For a moment, the sea itself was aflame. Reflected light shimmered yellow on the tidewater. Wartortle turned his face aside as a wave of heat rolled up the dune. The light died with the flames, leaving bubbling white water where the embers had landed.

Quil looked at him with mirth shining through his face and posture. He did not appear to notice Wartortle's distance or anxious expression. Wartortle chose his next words with great care.

“That's very impressive Quil. You shouldn't feel inferior. That fire is going to be very helpful on our way to Articuno if any wild Pokémon try to stop us.”

“Yeah!” Quil said, a grin on his short snout again after seeing the fiery explosions on the water. “Nothing will stop us!”

“It's been a long day. I'm going to get some sleep Quil, if that's okay with you?”

Quil nodded, distracted. “Sure. Oh, I'll join you later, I don't think I can sleep.”

A few minutes later, Wartortle lay himself down in the depression he'd dug next to a sand-colored rock behind the dune. He closed his eyes and withdrew into his shell. Even so, the hungry light of Quil's repeated Ember attacks flashed through his eyelids.


	40. Integrity

Covertly studying Quil in the morning was made easy by the Quilava's bleary-eyed demeanor as the pair set out eastward. He was out of it. Evidently, Quil had gotten much less sleep than Wartortle had, which was saying something. The flashes of light and concerns Wartortle had for his friend had not allowed him an easy drop into slumber the previous night.

Quil had definitely mellowed. The manic energy was gone. He appeared to be more at peace with the world, but that could be attributed to any of multiple causes. Meeting multiple Legendary Pokémon the previous day. Finishing his Pilgrimage. Surviving a nearby volcanic eruption. The calm acceptance of life's unpredictability, arising from all of the above. Even with all that had happened the previous day, Wartortle thought the Fire boost was the chief impetus of Quil's contentment. And that set Wartortle ill at ease.

He finally broached the topic. “One day we'll have to take Moltres' talisman, either through persuasion or by force. One day we're going to reverse the Fire boost. You're aware of that right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Quil mumbled. “Please don't remind me, I want to enjoy this. It's going to be awful losing this power. Although, I've already cheated my way into growing stronger in battle by traveling with you. It's not fair to cheat more with this boost.”

“If Moltres landed on that scraggly patch over there, right now, you'd have no qualms about battling her with me?”

Quil looked at him with confusion, his eyes slightly squinted from too little sleep. “No, I wouldn't. We'd definitely lose, but I'd fight with you.” A few seconds went by. “Oh! Oh, no, Wartortle I'm not crazy. The boost didn't roast my brain. I'm still with you. We have to end all the boosts, even Fire.”

“Right. Good.” Wartortle failed to keep his tone clear of all suspicion, but Quil did not appear to notice it in his state.

“While I know what we're trying to do,” Quil continued, “and I said I believe in your plan, this is going to be really hard. We've come all this way without making any difference. Flames still got boosted. Victini's still doing Victini things. The Resistance is probably still drowning in requests for help.”

“We've gained some very useful information,” Wartortle said. “We're on our way to cleaning up this mess, thanks to what we know now.”

Quil let out a small sigh. “Yeah, that's true. We'll succeed in the end. Things can't get any worse, right? All three of the Legendary Birds have one of those rocks. Everything is the worst it's ever been. That means no matter what happens next, it'll be an improvement. What we do next can only make things better.”

“Hope finds a way,” Wartortle agreed, with a springier step.

Quil let out a quiet guffaw of laughter. “Is that an expression where you come from? Ick, that's got to be the worst one I've heard from you.”

“You know you like it. It's right up your alley.”

“It's 'right up my alley'? What? Who invents these sayings? An elite team of Magikarp?”

Wartortle laughed as he sidled through a wide cleft in a rock that was in his way. Quil chose to scramble atop and leap down the other side. After landing, he added, “Hope finds a way. I do like it, actually.”

The terrain they traversed had a distinct odor for which Wartortle could not find the right words. Not burnt, not earthy, and not dry, though all three elements contributed. He'd never seen, let alone traveled through a region quite like it. Diminutive trees broke the horizon ahead here and there, but scruffy shrubs dominated the orange soil. Since the plants were clearly adapted for a low amount of rainfall, and the dirt was dry as a parched throat, he knew it to be some variety of desert. The strangest component of the landscape was the abundance of large rocks embedded in the terrain. Most were cracked and fractured. Wartortle wondered if erosion via wind had broken them, or the repeated use of a common move by some Pokémon species native to the area.

Wartortle was tempted at multiple times to suggest bearing northward and continuing their journey on the beach, until he noticed the coastline would make a poor guide. It was not the smooth, circular edge of the island that he'd foolishly pictured in his mind. The coastline had inlets, horns, deviations. The inconsistency would be detrimental to following a straight course to the east. Lagoons, dunes, and other barriers would also slow them down. And, Wartortle had a feeling Quil would be averse to the idea of walking close enough to the sea to even hear waves crashing. So they kept to the desert. The ocean was always on their left, even if it was not always visible at a mile away, give or take. As the sun kept them on a straight course, Wartortle was able to see exactly how much the coastline meandered into and away from the desert.

No doubt seeing him following the beach with his eyes, Quil said, “You wish we were walking on the beach, huh?”

At Wartortle's nod, he said, “Back in Weird Wood when you prepared all the water obstacles for me, I had a sad thought. Because I'm a Flame and my partner's a Drip, we're--”

“A Drip? Is that the same as a Wet?”

“Oh!” Quil's head sagged with what appeared to be shame, or embarrassment. “Sorry. That word is...a not-very-nice way of saying Wet. Flames use it a lot, since we tend to, erm, not like Wets very much. I'm sorry, really sorry.”

“Interesting. No problem, I don't mind. You were saying?”

“Right. Um, because we're such different Types, we'll never both be happy in the same place.”

Wartortle stopped in surprise for a second. “Really? I once had that same thought! In Blindhollow, when we took cover from the rain on those steps by the Prison. Well, you took cover while I soaked it up.”

“I remember,” Quil replied with a small chuckle. “We're doomed to disagree on what's comfortable. This desert isn't too hot for you, is it? I'll happily go closer to the ocean if it is.”

“The heat is fine, thanks though. The eruption and, er, 'boost storm', was the only time it's been too hot for me to handle. Compared to that, this is almost nothing.”

“Sorry you had to go through that. Looked miserable.” Quil returned his sights to the way ahead. “I wish we knew how big this region is.”

Following such thoughts, Wartortle wished he could put a name to the desert. He disliked flying blind. Moltres had used no proper nouns in her directions. For once, Quil had no information on where they were or where they were going, as such knowledge was irrelevant to the Pilgrimage. For all either of them knew, they could be skirting a settlement of local Pokémon at any moment without even realizing. Three times they crossed worn paths leading to parts unknown. Three times, they stopped to glance both ways with curiosity, then pressed on to the east. None of the paths pointed in the direction they needed to go, and to go with all haste. They imagined where the paths might lead in their sporadic chats.

Regardless of his geographical knowledge of the region, Quil's skill in foraging for food was nevertheless undiminished. Wartortle was far from useless, having become much more of an 'outdoorsmon' over the past weeks, but Quil had a special knack. Through Quil, Wartortle found that the plant life was not at all bereft of bounty. Wartortle recognized none of the fruits they chanced upon, but that did not stop him from trying all of them. At one point he picked a sky blue berry covered in dark speckles. The pattern reminded him of something, so he stashed it in one of the pack's pouches for later. The provisions in the pack on Quil's back were not yet depleted, being saved in case of emergency.

Every battle that developed on the journey, save for one, was uncomfortably awkward for Wartortle to watch. He watched due to the simple fact that every battle was always over before he could use any of his moves. He was neither needed, nor able to help.

A four-legged orange Pokémon leaped out of the soil when Quil crossed a portion of bare dirt. At least half of its body weight had to be in its massive jaws. Wartortle asked Quil later what species it was, but Quil only knew it was somehow related to the Flygon line. It scuttled toward Quil on its stump-like legs, opening its cavernous mouth.

“Quil, offensive attitude, those jaws--” Wartortle cut himself off, diving over the nearest rock for cover as Quil used his Ember on the wild Pokémon from two feet away.

Heat flowed around the sides of Wartortle's rock as a flickering light flashed on the nearby vegetation. The sound of fire crackling. Wartortle peered around the rock, noting the black flecks imprinted on the other side of the rock face.

In front of Quil, all plant life had been burned to cinders for some thirty feet. The soil was black, fire smoldering in a couple of spots. On the sides of the burnt strip, all plant life had been blackened or shriveled in some fashion by the extreme heat. One tree, which had previously had pale green leaves, now presented lovely foliage of radiant yellows and oranges. Fire. Wartortle rushed up to douse the flames with his water.

The wild Pokémon lying at the end of the black strip was covered in so much soot that Wartortle might have mistaken it for a deformed Umbreon, had he not seen it before the Ember attack. It lay motionless on its belly with all four legs splayed out.

“Sorry,” Quil said in an awkward voice after approaching it. He glanced at Wartortle for assistance, who returned the equivalent of a shrug as he quenched the fire on a burning twig.

“Maybe you should offer the next Pokémon a chance to surrender,” suggested Wartortle as Quil gave a bow.

From that battle on, Wartortle was a spectator. Every battle, Quil used Ember as Wartortle ran for cover or jumped behind Quil when no cover could be seen. Every battle, a single technique was sufficient to render the opponent or opponents unconscious or close to it. Tactics were out of the question. Positioning was unimportant. Only Quil's Ember mattered. Even against Pokémon that Wartortle knew for a fact to be resistant to Fire-type moves stood no chance despite the gleam of eagerness he saw in their eyes.

Once or twice, Pokémon they encountered turned tail and fled upon seeing the fire erupting from Quil's forehead and rear. “Flame!” gasped one Sandshrew before retreating into its burrow. Quil initially rebelled against the idea of verbally extending an invitation to surrender, but he soon took up the practice out of remorse. Watching his friend's transformation from enthusiasm to humility reminded Wartortle of the Electrike's explanation in Blind Prairie, if not the Electrike's attitude and behavior. Truly, Fire-types could not fit in the wild any longer. Perhaps in an environment with a high density of Electric-types, Ice-types, and Fire-types, a mockery of the natural order might be maintained, but in this arid land, Fire was king.

Finally, the pair encountered a wild Fire-type. A moment that, when it arrived, Wartortle realized he'd been greatly anticipating. Quil's expression switched in an eye-blink from bored to ravenous. Finally, a challenge!

The Emboar, five feet tall, grinned down at the pair from behind its flaming collar. Its lips stretched around the ivory tusks that matched the bulky claws on its fingers and toes. Smoke puffed out of its snout as it snorted and widened its stance, clenching its claws.

Wartortle dashed past some shrubs to the side to avoid the cross-fire between Quil and their opponent as Quil drew in breath for his Ember. The Emboar bellowed as it smacked the yellow design on its great belly, then lumbered toward Quil for a close-ranged technique. With every heavy footfall, flame spewed radially from the front of its belly until that point had become the apex of a fiery cone. The Emboar's arms and legs were small breaks in a white-hot shroud of fire by the time it had almost reached Quil.

The dazzling embers shot out of Quil's mouth to pelt the charging juggernaut's shield of streaming flames. The cacophany of detonations immediately whipped up a storm of fire that engulfed both Pokémon. Wartortle dropped to his belly and covered his face with his hands as burning wind streamed over him. For a moment, the world was as hot as it had been during the eruption. He imagined the fur of his ears to be sizzling to ash.

When he uncovered his face to squint up at the combatants, he saw that they'd been blasted apart from the collision of the attacks. The point of impact looked like the site of an Electrode's Explosion move, but amplified ten times. Around the crater, all was blackened or aflame. Quil's fires were out; he was unconscious. The Emboar was covered in soot, but regaining its feet.

Wartortle readied a Water Gun, his strongest tool against a Fire-type. As his water streamed into the Emboar's bulk, flames wreathed its form once again even as it voiced its pain. This time the fires burned small and hot, as opposed to forming a wall of gushing flames. It crouched and heaved itself into the air. Despite his knowledge that a Pokémon's physical limits generally increased through evolution, he was shocked at the height the huge Emboar managed to achieve.

The fire surrounding the Emboar redoubled in size, transforming it into a veritable meteor. A meteor descending onto Wartortle from above. He used his Withdraw in response, bracing as the heat crashed against him.

When he was awoken by Quil prodding his arm with his snout, Wartortle's first thought was of gratefulness. Every recent battle had been a decisive victory. Losing at last felt right, as if by being defeated they had balanced some cosmic scale. If not for the boost, traversing the region would have been extremely difficult if not impossible, as the foes they faced were very tough indeed. Wartortle felt guilty for their easy passage even though he was actively working to reverse the boost.

He coughed, dislodging black residue from the surface of his shell, as he looked up at Quil. His friend looked as sore and tired as he felt. They agreed to rest for half an hour or so. Wartortle blinked as he saw that the area he lay in was perfectly peaceful and whole. No signs of a battle. He recognized a nearby rock shaded by a particularly tall tree. The Emboar had probably picked them up and thrown them out of its territory in the direction whence they'd come.

When he checked the pack for signs of damage, he couldn't hold back a shout. What remained was intact, if warm, but the Special Band and sole Cheri Berry were absent. The Emboar had searched the backpack and taken a trophy of its victory against not only a Water-type, but a boosted Fire-type as well. Wartortle could picture the Emboar chortling as it tied the orange and gold cloth around its arm, berry juice sizzling as it ran down its chin into the fiery collar. The colors did match its body perfectly, he supposed. Perhaps that was why it had taken the item.

“We should be glad it didn't take any more,” Quil said, ever the optimist. “It must have been taking pity on us. Or it feels it doesn't need what we have.”

“The Emboar was probably unaware of how valuable our items are,” said Wartortle, “or it might have taken the whole backpack.”

“Yeah,” Quil agreed. “Well, traveling with items comes with drawbacks. We always knew about the hassle of carrying the pack, securing it, protecting it. Now we can add on the possibility of being robbed whenever we lose a battle.”

Wartortle grimaced. “After we lose a battle, even if we aren't completely knocked out, we'd be helpless if the occasional wild Pokémon chooses to dig around in the pouches a little. Or a lot.”

“Bringing all of this will be worth it,” Quil said, wiggling to give the pack a little shake. “Every advantage counts!” Wartortle flashed him an appreciative smile as he flopped back down to rest.

In the middle of the day after the pair had left Iyrodenin, Quil's ears perked up and he twisted around. Wartortle joined him in looking for a disturbance when he heard the noise too. Rushing wind. Coming from above!

“Found you!”

A Fearow pulled out of a dive above their heads, swooping low to the ground. It bled speed by pointing itself upward. At the peak of its ascent, it spun to face them and began flapping to hover in place. Quil hesitated in preparing a fiery assault, so Wartortle refrained from running for cover. The Fearow's beady gaze from above its elongated, fearsome beak was not an aggressive one. The beats of its long brown and tan wings brought it closer toward the pair.

“Kyah, I finally found you!” she said in exultation with a voice much like that of Keer the Mandibuzz. “I've done well!”

Who was this Pokémon? Why would anyone be looking for them? Perhaps she was affiliated with some influential boosted Pokémon, one that felt threatened by the activities of the Resistance. Wartortle had predicted a long time ago that they might be targeted by anti-Resistance Pokémon. Did the Fearow think she could fight them alone and be successful? Or if she was here solely for reconnaissance, why had she revealed her presence?

“Keep your distance please,” said Quil. “Why have you been looking for us?”

“I come from Cavetown and the great Resistance. I was sent to find you. And now I have succeeded in my mission!”

“You certainly have,” Wartortle agreed as he exchanged a perplexed look with Quil.

“I feared you had walked west of the volcano, deeper into those mountains. Kyah, I am glad you did not. This warmer air is better. We have all seen enough of the snowy mountains!” She landed on the soil and folded her wings. Wartortle focused on the red comb running the length of the Flying-type's forehead so that he didn't have to look down the long beak to those fierce eyes.

Quil said, “Yep, we're heading east. You must have heard we were going to the volcano up north, but once you flew there, did you start searching around randomly? I can't believe you found us!”

The Fearow's plumage appeared to swell as she puffed out her chest. “The mission was not that hard, kind Quil. I flew very high, and my eyes miss nothing. Ah, my name is Row, as in Fearow.” She flapped into the air and thwacked at Quil then Wartortle with a wing.

“You sound like you've heard of us?” Wartortle queried.

“Heard of you?” She began to squawk with laughter before making a visible effort to compose herself. “I apologize, Wartortle, Quil. I have heard of you. Much! You are the founders of the great Resistance! The founders! All we do is because of you.”

“I suppose it is. Yes. So, er, why were you sent to us?” Wartortle asked as Quil momentarily lost his voice.

“Since you have been gone long enough to have reached the volcano, wise Hayzin suggested we send someone to find you. If you had not succeeded in finding Moltres, I was to greatly encourage you to return to the Resistance to lend your great experience. If you had succeeded, and I say I always believed you would, I was to ask you how the Resistance should proceed.” She tilted her beak aside to fix them with one eye. “Have you found Moltres of the Legendary Birds?”

“Yeah!” Quil said as Wartortle nodded.

Row's eye blinked. “Yes? You mean you have?” They both nodded. “Kyah, really? No, really? I...believed in you, I did, but I did not believe...that is--”

Wartortle stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he gently cut her off. “It's alright. Not even Quil believed until we saw her for ourselves. The eruption you saw yesterday occurred when she was boosted.” He glanced behind him to the distant silhouette of Iyrodenin. “It's somewhat complicated.”

Row glanced back and forth between them, as if contemplating whether they could be playing a prank on her.

“That was nice of Hayzin and the rest,” Quil said. “And thanks for flying all this way! The Resistance must be big now, huh? Are the missions going well? Lots of requests satisfied?”

“Yes, yes, and...yes,” said Row. “The Team Base, it is a beautiful, inspiring place. The walls have great hollows now for Flyers like me to sleep. Just like the hollows of old trees. The request board is always full, but the teams usually find great success. I have only been on one mission myself; a Freezer had built a dam of ice in the Karp river. We are doing great work, kyah!”

“Hayzin's wondering how the Resistance should proceed,” Wartortle said, mostly to himself. He crossed his arms.

“Yes,” Row affirmed. Quil, being used to Wartortle's periods of reflection, gave him his peace.

“One minute, please excuse me, I need to think,” Wartortle said as he stepped away and began to pace. The Resistance was occupied, and doing great work by the sound of it. Yet the work that he and Quil intended to accomplish was ultimately far more important. Nothing could possibly be more important. Wartortle's plans had been laid, and they did not include any assistance from outside forces. Could the Resistance help? Should the Resistance help? Perhaps part of it could. His head bobbed in agreement with his thoughts. Perhaps in a few days, more or less, though travel time needed to be accounted for. Would it be a waste? How exactly could they contribute, and who exactly would want to?

Ideas whirled through his mind. When he nodded to himself for the final time, he returned to Row and Quil, who halted their conversation.

“Sorry, that was a fair bit longer than a minute, I know. Quil, what do you think of this?”

* * *

Wartortle and Quil watched as Row the Fearow flapped away to the south. Despite double-checking and triple-checking his scheme, as well as receiving Quil's input, he worried that his ambition had gotten the better of him. That his expectations were too high. Quite possibly his request would be wasting the Resistance's time and effort, resources that were already being very well spent according to Row's report. By extension, he would be prolonging the suffering of the Pokémon who had requested aid at Cavetown.

“I will do as you say, great Wartortle,” Row had said, but Wartortle had missed neither the reluctance in her tone, nor the tentative manner in which she'd unfurled her wings to take off.

“Stop worrying,” said Quil as they continued ever eastward. “I know it was a big decision, but we both know it was a great idea. The best idea!”

He grunted in acknowledgment of Quil's words, sounding exactly like Bein. The Cubone's image flashed in his mind but the humor was lost on him at the moment.

A few words from me, and the lives of countless Pokémon on this island have been changed forever. How did I end up here, at the top? I'm the man who treated all this like a game. I'm the guy who allowed and encouraged Tristan to come here.

And again, by the humbling weight of responsibility pressing down on his shell, the reasons he did not deserve his position filled his thoughts. He deserved instead to be the enemy of all Pokémon. As a human on that night, he'd toyed with the fate of all the Pokémon on Preserve Alpha. Now, as a Wartortle and a leader of the Resistance, he realized he still held their fate in his hands. Often he was proud of who he was. His appetite for achievement. His competence. At the moment, he was disgusted.

He would atone. He would atone for who he'd become and what he'd done in those memory blanks.

Wartortle continued to forge a path through the desert with Quil, eying the sea every now and then when it was visible. His thoughts of that night at the lab continued to absorb his attention. The interruptions of the one-sided battles passed swiftly enough that his train of thought was never lost. After ruminating on the the events of his past for hours, he noticed a frown on his face increasingly often. There were conflicts between what Victini had said, and what he knew as fact from his memories and logical leaps. By their third day in the rocky and shrub-covered desert, Wartortle was sure: Victini's story did not add up.

Since Ralia the Gardevoir's intervention, Wartortle's memory of the fateful night was not a perfect void. He had always been able to recall feelings, tiny snippets, and pieces of images. His memory had been coherent enough for him to recall a breakthrough, rushing to the lab, ruckus, and then the uniquely stable memory of choosing to become a Pokémon. Some of those broken memories disagreed with what Victini had said.

According to Victini, both of them had rushed to the laboratory and spent the night reviewing the results. When all appeared to be in order, they had wildly celebrated. Cue the bet between them being made. While Wartortle dimly recalled returning to the lab in a hurry, he also recalled feeling disappointed about something. Why would there have been any disappointment to be had, according to Victini? And had he really lost a full night of reviewing the most important results of his lifetime? The sense he got from his own memories was that the time he'd spent before choosing to become a Pokémon was not too long. Not longer than four or five hours.

Wartortle recalled Ralia's warning pertaining to the organic nature of memories. Recollection always appeared to be inflexible as steel, but in reality was flimsy and capricious. What Victini had said could already have caused him to recall events incorrectly, or to remember something that had never actually happened. Nevertheless, Wartortle was sure that there was a disparity between his scattered recollections and the story Victini had fed him. Then again, his certainty only existed because of the faith he had in his memories: an untrustworthy source.

And the people he saw. Not all of them were wearing lab coats. The lab had had a strict dress code policy. The traditional white lab coat was to be worn by all lab personnel at all times while on site. White: easy to spot stains, and symbolic of the purity of the scientific method. Granted, the coats may have been shed due to the excitement of the breakthrough, but he thought he recalled darker uniforms never seen in the facility. Military uniforms, perhaps, or the uniform of some organization not known to him. Certainly professional, and not in the fashion of laboratories. Why would people be in the lab in the middle of the night who weren't lab personnel?

And where was the confetti and champagne? Where was the boundless joy, of which Wartortle should have at least recalled fragments? The joy of seeing the fruition of his most ambitious project? One of the most ambitious endeavors in human history? Glimmers of happiness could be found between the holes of his memory, but the disappointment and suggestions of different emotions conflicted with Victini's story. It was possible that Victini had left out irrelevant parts of the story, as any good storyteller did. Wartortle could have been upset about something else, certainly.

But one major discrepancy remained. He knew he was only fixated on this point to set his conscience at ease. To settle his cognitive dissonance. To reassure himself that he was a good person. Yet he also believed it to be true. Wartortle had not been that arrogant. The Brayden of Victini's version of events was arrogant beyond reason. That Brayden had chosen to become the relatively unremarkable Squirtle, supposedly only to give Victini an advantage in their bet. He'd chosen to give up his memories for the same cocky reason. And he'd given his rival a head start.

Wartortle had never been arrogant. Or, more accurately, he didn't think he'd ever been arrogant. One's perception of oneself and who one actually was never fully agreed, for anyone. After Stolt's tour at Karprest and his resulting revelations, Wartortle could not forget that lesson. Although, from his memories of earlier years that were intact, he could never recall feeling that others considered him an arrogant individual. Wartortle had both stumbled upon good fortune and made it for himself, and he had certain acquaintances and associates he knew to be jealous of that. However, he'd never flaunted his success, and they'd never considered him arrogant. To the best of his knowledge. Perhaps one or two of them had, and Wartortle only believed that he was a down-to-earth individual.

Being responsible for technology that allowed humanity's ascension to immortality would have been a hefty boost to his ego. The celebrations might have gotten to his head. He might have gone overboard during the bet. It was entirely within the realm of possibility. Everything that Victini had said was.

Wartortle refused to believe it.

The 'truth' that Victini had divulged was crooked. Why had he done so? What was his purpose? Probably, it had been done to somehow disadvantage Wartortle. Regardless of their dealings in the past, the present situation on Preserve Alpha had them at odds with one another. One of Victini's goals would be to stop all opposition. Lying made sense from his perspective. There had to be more to it though. The lies were believable enough that Wartortle was unsure if they were lies at all. Why had Victini so elegantly twisted the truth? How had all of the events involving the boosts occurred, if not for the reasons outlined by Victini's story? Yet again, Wartortle wished his memory were whole and that he could know the truth.

Whether Victini had been honest, a little misleading, or thoroughly deceitful did not change the here and the now. The Legendary still needed to be stopped, and Wartortle and Quil were still going to stop him.

The trees grew infrequent on the third day. Then the shrubs. The soil lost its rich orange coloration, taking on an ochre color reminiscent of the sun. When they bedded down for the night, they slept on sand.

As far as the eye could see, the terrain ahead was a featureless desert of rolling sand dunes.


	41. Resolution

Crossing the desert was a slog. There was no easier or better way to put it. Wartortle and Quil climbed up sand dunes. Then, they went down the other side. Up, then down. Up and down, up and down. All day. For two full days.

Wartortle got sand lodged in the crevices of his shell's interior that he didn't even know existed. The lovely aqua-blue fur of his tail and ears were thoroughly dirtied before noon of the first day. The sand of the dunes was not nearly hot or abrasive enough to give his Pokémon feet burns or blisters, but neither was trudging through the sand comfortable.

“Not half as exciting as the orange desert we came from,” Quil said. “The warmth and sun feel nice though. I'd choose this over Heartless Heights and Snowcap Crags. How about you?”

“I'd take the mountains. However, I welcome the hardship. This journey is part of my atonement. I'm due back a little suffering, if Victini was being honest.”

He'd shared with Quil his thoughts on the possibility of Victini lying about what had happened to bring him and Wartortle to Preserve Alpha. Quil, who had no way of knowing what had occurred that night, trusted Wartortle's judgment of what was truth and what was falsehood. “I already told you I thought he was lying or exaggerating,” Quil had said. “I know my opinion doesn't mean much here because I barely even know what humans are, but I doubt you made a bet like that with Victini."

Now, he said with a soft chuckle, “You and your atonement. Any other 'mon would think that saving Blindhollow was enough. Actually, no. They wouldn't be worrying about atoning at all.”

“We've established, in my time as a Pokémon, that I am in fact different from other Pokémon.” Wartortle's tone was as dry as the dunes.

“Less and less, though!” Quil said. “If you could take a look at the Squirtle that tried to fight that Zigzagoon, I think you'd laugh or cringe. Either one.”

Wartortle nodded in hesitant agreement. That was a topic he'd come to terms with weeks ago. He was what he was: a one-of-a-kind hybrid. Well, two-of-a-kind, he knew now. He wondered what Victini thought of the duality they shared. Wartortle did not give any further reply, and Quil let the matter drop.

The coast veered southward as they traveled the desert. Now if the two traveled directly east, they would soon hit the winding coastline. They took a more southward course to keep going approximately parallel to the ocean on their left. The change in direction made perfect sense, as Iyrodenin was supposedly near the island's northernmost point. The pair would be traveling due southeast before the journey was over.

Battles were rare. Despite the resilience and resourcefulness of Pokémon in general, few had wound up adapted to true desert life it seemed. Toward dusk, Quil and Wartortle crested one dune to find a group of Pokémon climbing toward them from the other side. One Sandile, two Krokorok, and a Krookodile in the lead. Wartortle figured they lived a nomadic lifestyle, due to the barren nature of the desert. The Sandile and one of the Krokorok immediately dug into the slope of the dune, vanishing from sight. Their motions reminded Wartortle of the way Bein used to dig the hidey-hole each night. The Krookodile in the lead hissed as it tore up the hill toward Quil, leaving a wake of scattering sand. The other Krokorok stayed behind, burying its hands and feet in the sandy slope.

Wartortle ran to the right along the sand dune's crest to get away from Quil as usual while his partner prepared to call down an inferno upon the approaching Krookodile. The dune began trembling violently while he watched the Krookodile's ascent and Quil's impending Ember. Wartortle endured the shaking until he lost his footing and tumbled down the opposition's side of the dune. He caught a look at the Krokorok who had partly immersed its limbs. It heaved its body up and down rapidly, sending powerful vibrations directionally upward along the dune toward him. A section of the dune, the section he had been walking on, appeared to blur as the grains of sand jumped up and down from the tremors. A contained earthquake.

Wartortle reoriented himself even as he tumbled. With deft placement of one hand, he swung himself onto his shell-back. The hemispherical surface allowed him to stabilize his tumble into a steady slide down the sand dune.

Just like the snowy mountainsides of Snowcap Crags, he thought as he leaned to the right to escape the shaking sector of the dune. Except back then, I was fleeing from the enemy.

The Krokorok ended its shaking upon seeing Wartortle had escaped the affected area. Before it could properly center itself to dodge, Wartortle had leaned to the left to send himself careening toward the wild Pokémon. At the last moment, he lowered his raised tail such that it stuck into the dune like a needle. All of his speed became rotation around that pivot point due to his tail's leverage. Wartortle's shell struck the Krokorok with what he imagined to be the force behind a Blastoise's Tackle.

The hapless Krokorok cried out as it was launched off the dune into empty space. By then, Quil's Ember had been used to great effect. Wartortle had watched the flashes of light from the corner of his eye. The Krookodile slid down a different part of the dune, smoking. Quil still stood at the crest, though the portion of dune just below him was sand no longer. It had been melted to become some yellow, translucent material with a sheen to it.

Before Wartortle could marvel at the melted sand any longer, the ground beneath him erupted. Tan-colored jaws popped out, landing a good bite on him. He grimaced at the pressure while gathering water into his throat. When the Sandile released him, Wartortle pelted him with a Water Gun. At the dune crest, he spotted another puff of sand and flurry of motion, then an explosion of blackest smoke. Quil's boosted Smokescreen.

Wartortle could sustain his technique no longer. He clamped his jaws shut. The Sandile was finished. It lay on the moist sand, its shaded eyes as glassy as the melted sand further up the dune.

Water beats Ground, I know that much.

Then the smoke spilled over them both, turning day into night. Wartortle coughed a couple of times as he grew accustomed to the heavier air laden with particles. Like a series of lightning bolts within a thundercloud, a distant part of the smoke lit up with what could only be Quil's Ember. Wartortle made his way toward it.

After a minute, when the smoke had begun to thin out, Quil approached him with no trouble. “The others?” he asked.

“The Krokorok at the base of the dune will probably keep fighting.”

Together they headed down the slope as the smoke finally dissipated. The Krokorok that Wartortle had launched was indeed climbing up to continue fighting.

“Surrender, I'm a Flame!” Quil said, as if the fire spouting from his body was a poor indicator of his Type.

“I can still fight!” the Krokorok returned with a hiss.

After another Ember, it certainly could not still fight. When Wartortle stood up again after diving behind Quil for cover, he could see that the phenomenon of melted sand had repeated itself. Fascinating. If a lightning bolt struck one of these dunes, perhaps a similar effect would occur.

Quil drew circles in the sand with the claws of one hind leg. “I would have offered a surrender earlier, but it was four versus two. And I'm not sure they could have heard me when they were underground.”

Wartortle visually confirmed that the four Pokémon would not be bothering them anymore. “I wouldn't worry about it, they fought well. Digging underground is a hard technique to counter! Oh, did you see the way that first Krokorok hit me with a targeted earthquake? Amazing.”

Quil shook his head. “I was busy preventing my face from being bitten.”

The two showed their respects to the unconscious or drained Pokémon as they continued through the desert. The interesting topography and flow of the battle kept them immersed in excited conversation for the next hour. Despite both taking hits, they decided not to stop and rest. At the current rate, another battle any time soon was highly unlikely. It was back to the slog.

Later on, Quil spotted a particularly large dune coming up. He suggested they climb to the top for the view at the same time that Wartortle suggested they circumvent the inconvenience. Wartortle gave in to Quil's enthusiasm. After a climb that took five minutes of patient effort on the shifting sands, the pair was granted sight of the desert and beyond. To the south was desert, with a very distant promise of mountains on the horizon, or gargantuan trees packed close together. Or they were clouds? It was difficult to tell.

To the west, the different style of desert from which they'd come was barely visible. Not one but two slivers of gray smoke rose into the sky. Fires, they agreed. It was bound to happen sooner or later with the entire Type having been boosted. Any careless Fire-type could set into motion an uncontrollable blaze with the firepower they were packing nowadays.

The nature of the eastern lands, and thus their destination, was not easy to decipher. The fact that miles of sand dunes lay between them and the new terrain did not make identification any easier. It was rough, a little mountainous, and looked colorless at distance. Wartortle wagered it was a desolate wasteland, like a bumpier and sand-less version of the region they currently traveled. Quil guessed it was grassy like his homeland of Steady Steppe. He said it looked similar.

Lastly, both turned to the north. At that moment, a sinuous creature emerged from the ocean a mile away, arcing high into the air. Its gaping maw was probably bigger than Wartortle's whole body. Fins and frills adorned its head and spine. A blue tail fin made a tremendous splash as the Pokémon plunged back into the deep. Gyarados.

“What was that?” Quil asked, long after the waves had settled.

“Gyarados. Rare. Where I come from, seeing them can mean good or bad luck depending on who you ask. You'll definitely have some kind of luck.”

“You're sure it wasn't Kyogre?”

Wartortle laughed, then apologized. “According to human mythology, Kyogre looks like a Wailord. Not at all long and thin like a Gyarados.”

A slight gust reached them high atop the tallest sand dune. Wartortle fancied he could taste salt on the breeze. Quil said, “There's a whole other world under the ocean. A million regions to explore. All different kinds of Pokémon and moves.”

Wartortle hummed in agreement.

Eventually, they descended from the dune and moved on. The only other exciting incident of the two-day desert trek was a battle with another Fire-type. It was a cumbersome Pokémon walking on four cloven hooves. Its coat of hair was pink with a pattern of three blue rings on each of its sides. The dull eyes sitting on top of a wide muzzle contrasted in attitude with the twin miniature volcanoes emerging from its back. Wartortle thought for a moment, then dragged the name Camerupt from the pits of his long-term memory.

The fight was over quicker than the battle with the Sandile line of Pokémon despite the Camerupt's boosted typing. As Quil's blazing white missiles reached it, the Camerupt's tiny volcanoes ejected a combined geyser of molten lava. Being a boosted technique, the thick geyser reached an astonishing height before fountaining outward in all directions. The sun shone red through the thin blanket of lava as it covered the sky in a thirty or forty foot radius. It descended to the sands far too quickly for Wartortle or even Quil to escape. He had the sudden inspiration to use his water to poke a hole in the approaching lava, but too late.

The Camerupt's groan was swallowed by the explosions and firestorm around its body from Quil's ember. Wartortle and Quil both yelped as the lava splashed down. He brushed at the lava that coated him to hasten the process of its oozing off of him. The intense heat against his shell and skin was not easy to bear but neither was it painful, by virtue of his Water typing. Nevertheless, the lava had come from a boosted Fire-type technique. Wartortle's legs gave out by the time he'd brushed off most of the lava. The drain on his energy was too great.

His body had fallen at such an angle that he could see both Quil and the Camerupt as his chin rested on the sand. Both were down. 

The fight's already over. The winner? Nobody. Mutually assured destruction. Wartortle rested his eyelids as the crinkling sound of hardening lava came from the ground all around him.

An hour later, long after the Camerupt had risen to show its respect and taken off, Wartortle found he was not recovering his strength like Quil was. The world was blurry and distant as he stumbled along beside his friend. His right arm was the problem, he realized. The limb felt tender to the touch, and the skin of its upper half had a nasty purple color that he hadn't noticed. He imagined he could feel his body trying and failing to repair the lingering damage dealt by the lava. His arm was a black hole steadily sucking up all the energy reserves his body produced.

“That's a Burn, I would think,” Quil speculated. “I've never had one; I don't think I can get Burns. But that's what they say it looks and feels like. Dark color, it feels tender, a weakness that won't go away.”

“All conditions pass with time, right?” Wartortle mumbled. “How long?”

“I wish I knew. Maybe five hours? Ten hours? I have no idea how to make it go away faster, since it's a Burn. Sorry Wartortle, but we'll just have to take it really slow until you heal.”

Wartortle clenched the fingers of his left hand into a weak fist. Surely there was something he could do. When he'd been Poisoned by the Venomoth, the nausea and fragility he'd felt had made him yearn for a Pecha Berry. Now they carried a pack of supplies. Maybe he could find an item of use.

Quil stopped moving as Wartortle rummaged about in their pack. Nothing he brushed his claws against appeared useful in healing Burns. He'd been short-sighted; he'd neither researched nor packed for such a condition even though he'd predicted that Fire-types would be boosted. It made sense that Burns were associated with Fire-type techniques.

As he checked the last pouch, the one with the speckled blue berry, his mind was already elsewhere. Yet a recent memory came back to him with the image. Quil as a Cyndaquil balancing one of the berries on his snout. That had been on his very first day as a Squirtle. Almost his very first hour. Forgetting those moments would be impossible. Nostalgia warmed his heart. Those had been simpler times, when they hadn't known about any boosts or cruel Pokémon. He had been an amnesic Squirtle trying to find his way. Quil had been unwilling to even produce fire, and here he was summoning blinding infernos with ease!

Associated with the memory was the taste of the berry as he'd bitten into it. Very bitter. His tongue retracted deeper into his mouth with the remembered taste. Then, as he'd been distracted by Quil's balancing act, he'd felt a chilling sensation sweeping along his skin. In the sunny and warm hills by Karprest, he should not have been feeling cold anywhere. Could it have been...

Wartortle snatched the berry and closed the pouch. The hook of his upper lip broke into the berry and he pushed it into his mouth. He hurriedly swallowed the first squirt of bitter juices. Raising his arm, he watched for any changes. It felt like a cold wind had picked up, brushing along his face, his arms, his legs, but Quil's fur did not shake like it normally would. There was no wind. The purple splotch on Wartortle's arm faded to blue and vanished before his eyes.

“It's gone!” Quil exclaimed, poking at Wartortle's arm. “Those must be Rawst Berries! I never knew.”

Wartortle nodded, still feeling weak as he worked on the remainder of the berry in his mouth. His arm felt good as new. In minutes he knew he'd be raring to go as usual. The incident was amusing, really. Knowledge from his first snack as a Pokémon had ended up helping him all this time later.

Early in the morning of the third day in the sandy desert, the dunes had leveled out. The sand they trod became coarser with scattered small rocks. The hue desaturated as it transitioned into very pale brown soil. Like a fallen branch long dead, the color was nearly gray. Scattered mountains stood alone or in small clusters to the east and the south. Their size was fairly small, on par with the lesser peaks near Iyrodenin. Wartortle felt a sense of isolation as he viewed the land ahead. It was not a warm, jolly place. It was a land of austerity, where no one would help you if you failed to thrive on your own. The dull colors and lonely peaks were getting to him, he decided.

The pair took a route that stayed at sea level as often as possible after nonstop ups and downs in the desert. As a result, mountains loomed over them more often than not. Wartortle felt small, always at the bottom of canyons or surrounded by vast emptiness. He imagined the mountains as ancient beings that scrutinized him as he passed through their territory. Too little. Not determined enough. Overconfident. Much too feeble to seek Articuno, to ambush Victini.

The battles they experienced only enhanced his sense of personal inadequacy. Most foes were typed as Steel, Fighting, or the mighty Dragon. Had Quil not been boosted, there was absolutely no way the pair would have been able to cross through the desolate region. Wartortle witnessed more than a few scowls or expressions of surprise when hostile Pokémon first observed them. One of their foes finally voiced the reason for the reaction; they were not yet a Blastoise and Typhlosion, yet they had managed to get that far. As they crossed the region, not a single unevolved Pokémon could be spotted. Even Pokémon with no resistance to Fire were often able to endure an Ember by Quil. The techniques the wild Pokémon unleashed in return were wickedly potent. Wartortle and Quil suffered as many victories as they did defeats. The miles they could travel each day took a sharp downturn.

At one point, against a wild Dragonite, a question that had long remained unanswered in Wartortle's mind was finally resolved. Its opening gambit was a rapid approach for a physical strike. The antenna on its forehead straightened out behind it as it swooped toward Quil. The claws on the end of its right arm curled inward, like it was forming a fist. Then the fist exploded into flame. White fire, fading to orange and red, blazed with tremendous energy. Wartortle knew a boosted technique when he saw one. The Dragonite knocked Quil out with that single fiery punch. A flash of immense heat and light from the punch slammed against Wartortle like a physical blow, but he stood there dumbly. He'd been wrenched from his battling mindset by what he'd witnessed. The Dragonite rushed him next with the same punch. An easy win for the Dragonite.

“The Pokémon aren't what have been boosted,” Wartortle said to Quil about half an hour later, as they took a roundabout route. He hadn't felt such excitement in days. “The techniques are! We could never tell because it's rare for a Pokémon to be able to use an Electric technique when they don't have Electric typing. Same for Ice and Fire.”

Quil nodded along as they tromped through the rocky soil. “Remember Moltres' metaphor about the lake, rivers, and mountains? She never said the lake represents Flames. She said it was all 'mon that use Fire.”

“Yes! The phenomenon makes more sense to me now. It clicks. Pokémon of boosted Types are absolutely no different except for when they use a technique associated with their element. They faint as quickly as always. Their defenses against opposing attacks are unchanged. Only the power of the techniques they use has changed at all.” Wartortle let out a delighted laugh. “That's the scientist in me that's so excited. I finally see the complete picture. The mechanism of the boost is simple and elegant. I love it.”

“You love it? You love the boosts?”

Wartortle nudged his friend off balance with his shell. “You know what I mean.”

Quil regained his footing with a smile, but it vanished. He seemed to have noticed something in the sky while his head had been turned from the shove. Wartortle craned his head and spotted a tiny figure immeasurably high above them. He squinted. A Flying-type, gliding with wings outstretched. The profile of the Pokémon from below looked like a Fearow.

As one, Quil and Wartortle waved up at what was probably Row. The figure did not react. The pair jumped up and down, waving their limbs vigorously. This time, the figure appeared to flap its wings in response. Wartortle thought he could hear a wordless screech: acknowledgment. The Flying-type turned and flew in a southwesterly direction.

Quil hopped and spun in the air. “That had to be Row trying to find out where exactly we are. So it's almost time; this is going to be fantastic!”

Wartortle was equally elated. “Yes, but let's not lose time. We have to keep going toward the peninsula. Every day that passes by increases the chances that Victini sees through our ruse.”

Quil agreed, sobering somewhat. Both of them now had a pep to their step though. While he had been reminded by Row of the heavy decision he'd made, he'd had plenty of time to think it over since their first meeting. He knew it to be the the correct choice. The mountains held their peace in Wartortle's mind as they pressed on.

The second day brought them flowers. Every now and then the pair passed through or near a patch of lively color amid the dead, gray-brown terrain. Quil remarked that life looked to be a struggle for them, and Wartortle agreed. These were short, hardy specimens with little diversity. One or two colors would be present, framed by forgettable shoots of grass or sometimes only moss. Wartortle leaned down to smell the first red flower they encountered. No scent wafted into his nose.

At one point the coastline dipped unusually close to the traveling pair's inland course. After walking by a small mountain, more of a hill, Wartortle could see that they were passing a bay a quarter mile away. Like the small inlet at Karprest, this body of water offered calm solace from the vast, rough waters beyond. By chance, his eyes fell upon a nearby wooden beam protruding out of the earth. It would have been easy to miss, since it had the same lifelessly pale color as the dead soil all around. When he went over to investigate he discovered other beams lying mostly buried in the ground.

“What's all this?” Quil asked, joining him. Wartortle had no answer. The wood of the beams was bleached of color through and through, as well as rotten. However their shape and length indicated they may have supported a structure at one time. Bein would know, were he present. Had these beams served as the framework of some hut or shack long ago? Wartortle surveyed the empty scenery between where he stood and the bay, trying to pick out other signs of Pokémon structures. Like a Detect Band for the remains of buildings had been tied around his forehead, Wartortle blinked and could suddenly see irregularities popping out on the ground.

Collapsed roofing here. Fallen door there. Black wooden paneling and large scratched-up rocks. Spars and struts arrayed in separate assemblages, like skeletons. All of it mostly buried in the ground. Almost certainly, he was looking at the ruins of a sizable Pokémon town. He pried up the buried portion of a door. It was lighter than it looked. After flipping it away with a foot, he saw ceramic shards beneath where the door had laid. Fragments of a vase, or bowl.

“I found...a hammer.” Quil sounded baffled by the discovery. He clutched a black hammer between his forepaws and held it up for Wartortle to see.

“This was a town,” he replied. “I'm sure of it. Maybe populated enough to be called a city. The ruins surround most of this bay.”

“This town sure had Krow's luck, whatever happened to it.” Quil wandered away to explore more of the collapsed and buried buildings as Wartortle dug through the dirt of an exceptionally large plot. Large rocks where the walls would have been, some of them bearing white scratches and gouges. A stone table, cracked in half. Some kind of figurine or doll made of rotten, shriveled plant stems tied together. It resembled a Sealeo or Dewgong. As Wartortle lifted it closer to his face, key knots broke off, causing it to fall apart.

If there were young Pokémon here, there must have been families here. They would have chosen to settle here and nowhere else. He moved onto the next ruin. Why had this place been destroyed and abandoned? What would have done this? Or who?

Wartortle was well aware that he and Quil were wasting time. Nothing in some old ruins of a town would give them an advantage over the trials ahead. His curiosity had been roused however, and it was not easily laid back to rest.

“Oh look over here!” came Quil's voice from afar. “I think I found the main road.”

Wartortle joined him in examining a winding road devoid of any sign of ruins. He could picture it going all the way to the water's edge, branching into side roads along the way that could take you anywhere in town. The corner of some pale wood poking out of the rocky soil caught his attention. When he shifted it, the soil for about ten feet in one direction shook. With a great heave, he rotated the structure out of the ground. It was a faded wooden signboard. A big one. He brushed the dirt off the side that had U-script painted on its surface.

Quil offered to hold the sign upright on the ground while Wartortle stepped back to decipher the characters. He could read them, albeit very haltingly.

“Let's see, it says...Welcome...to...Port...”

He froze, checking the contours of every Unown shape once again. His reading had been correct.

“Welcome to Port...what?” Quil asked, letting the sign flop back to the ground.

“Port Rein,” Wartortle said, a chill running down his spine. “This was Port Rein.”

“Port Rein,” Quil repeated. “The place from that Charizard's story. The town where he grew up.” His eyes grew wide. “The town he said he destroyed!”

Wartortle turned his gaze to the southwest, toward where he guessed Blindhollow was. “I never believed his story was true, but his account matches up. He said Port Rein was in some harsh and desolate mountain country northeast of his prison cell. He said that after his rampage, all that was left was ruins. I think his exact words were 'smoldering ashes and worthless debris'.”

“Can you imagine how powerful he was?” Quil said with awe. “He leveled the town and defeated everyone in it all by himself.”

Wartortle imagined the scene: a Charizard out of his mind, batting aside his fellow Pokémon and breaking everything in sight. “You heard the story. That Charizard made perfecting himself his life's work. Nothing else mattered to him. I don't think we should be surprised that someone that obsessive developed an odd psychiatric disorder. This tragedy right here is the result of a single-minded obsession with power.”

“I hope the Resistance hasn't had to deal with any boosted 'mon that destructive. They'd have to be even crazier than Raizula.”

Something about that sentiment set Wartortle's gears turning. An important realization was on the tip of his tongue. What was it?

“Maybe we should get moving,” Quil suggested, unintentionally derailing Wartortle's thoughts. “This happened a long time ago; there's nothing we can do to help. We solved the mystery but nothing here will help us reverse the boosts.” He took a few steps away from Port Rein and waited to see if Wartortle agreed.

Wartortle's ears twitched in response to his surge of annoyance at losing the realization on the edge of his awareness. Then he smirked at the fact that his ears had twitched, before following Quil.

The hour was too late to make significant headway after leaving the inconspicuous ruins. Before they slept for the night, Wartortle noted their first clear view of their destination. The peninsula was indeed mountainous as Moltres had said, though he could see no 'fortress of ice' at the tip. The peninsula was not a long one; it extended somewhere between ten and twenty miles away from the island. The mountains were taller and more intimidating than the ones near Port Rein, but Wartortle wagered they could travel the length of the peninsula without too much trouble. That last leg of the journey would take around a day, with another day required to reach the peninsula.

“We're almost there,” Quil said, peering up over the edge of the pit they'd dug next to a patch of violet flowers. “I'm supposed to be nervous, aren't I? I'm busy being excited to see another Legendary. We're going to do things that no 'mon has ever done before. We're going to fix everything.”

“I hope so,” Wartortle said wistfully. “That's the plan.”

Quil curled up beside Wartortle at the bottom of the pit. The air in this region grew quite cool at night thanks to the sea's proximity, so Wartortle was thankful for the heat of Quil's body and flames. For a while, Wartortle rested his chin on the ground outside of his shell. He peered up at the sky.

The stars were marvelous every night. He'd grown to appreciate the night sky as a Pokémon since there were no city lights to cause light pollution. Even the tiniest pinprick of twinkling light reached his eyes. The moon had risen in the afternoon as a waxing gibbous, nearly full. Now it glowed in the sky a few fists above the horizon. Tracking the movement of the celestial bodies was inevitable when one hiked through prosaic terrain all day.

Along with faint starlight, the blackness was colored by dim features that he'd never before seen as a human. What were they? Nebulae? Galaxies? Probably some phenomenon that only astronomers had the terminology to describe. His inability to understand what he was seeing didn't stop the night from being beautiful. In fact, the mystery enhanced the beauty.

“Hey. Wartortle.”

“Mm?”

“Thanks again. For letting me come with you, and not being mad that I left Cavetown. And for...I don't know. For being you, I guess.”

“Quil, you've never needed to thank me. I should thank you, for putting up with how different I am from other Pokémon. For being so positive when I've gotten you entangled in the dealings of humans and the affairs of Legendaries.”

“It's been an adventure, that's for sure. We're going to do great once we find Articuno. We're going to make a difference. I know it. Let's do our best, as always.”

“Sounds good to me. Good night, Quil.”

“Good night, Wartortle.”

* * *

The terrain grew rougher as Wartortle and Quil approached the peninsula. The mountains, larger. The dirt, rockier. Articuno had chosen an unpleasantly forbidding region to spend his or her days. Wartortle could come up with a few suspicions as to the Legendary's personality.

At noon, the pair had no choice but to scale one of the smaller mountains to continue southeastward. No route existed that would permit them to bypass all of the mountains. Even the beaches had been subsumed by cliffs and unnavigable rocky deposits. The two descended the far side of their mountain into a large canyon that gave them a fine view of the ocean blue at one end. The canyon ran straight from northeast to southwest for a few miles. Wartortle looked left and right as they crossed the canyon floor to the next mountain. As such, he saw them first.

Wartortle had taken guilty pleasure in preparing a clever remark to say to Quil for this occasion. It had been a fine way to pass some of their time hiking. Both of them knew this moment was coming, so Wartortle would not have been surprised if Quil had also been ready to say some appropriately dramatic words. Perhaps Quil's face would be arranged in a solemn expression as he unflinchingly faced a cold wind. That would be theatrical enough.

The first remark he'd prepared had been strong. A classic. 'The cavalry has arrived.' Unfortunately, the meaning would be lost on Quil. It was a callback to nearly ancient human history. Wartortle could explain the humor behind the remark using the time he'd ridden on Hayzin to the Blindhollow mission as a visual aid, but explaining any joke eliminated most of its value. 

His second idea was 'About time.' However, that implied that they'd been waiting. The two had been on the move even after Row had noted their position two days before. Despite the humor behind the mock severe tone evoked by the phrase, 'About time' simply wasn't clever enough.

The third idea was a strong contender. 'Look who decided to join us.' That one absolutely nailed the casual air that 'About time' failed to convey. It also belittled the nature of their journey and the task at hand, adding to the humor. Ultimately though, Wartortle figured the first idea he'd had was the best one. It was dramatic. It had pizzazz. Humor was great, but a properly delivered 'The cavalry has arrived' would really cement the occasion in his memory, he thought. Even if it was a strictly human expression.

Wartortle looked down the length of the canyon to the Pokémon who approached. All thoughts of dropping a clever and dramatic line evaporated from his mind. This was not what he had expected. Not at all. He stared, trying to understand the sight before him. He decided he'd better try a head count. In Wartortle's silence, Quil ended up being the one to assign a phrase to the moment.

“Wow. Just look at all of them!”

Wartortle could only sigh even as he smiled. How had he expected Quil to react in any other way? An earnest, passionate line like that was so Quil.

Hayzin, in the lead, sent a wordless whinny echoing down the canyon walls in greeting.

Behind him followed a throng of twenty-six Pokémon large and small.


	42. Command

In a canyon close to the mountainous peninsula in the far northeast, Wartortle and Quil convened with Hayzin and the twenty-six Pokémon at his back. Twenty-six. Twenty-six. Wartortle could scarcely believe that Row had returned with so many, when he'd only asked for some reinforcements. Had the Resistance grown so large that twenty-six bodies could be spared from the efforts based in Cavetown?

Hayzin came to a stop wearing a pleased smiled at Wartortle and Quil's reaction. “Hello Quil, and hello--”

“Hi you two!” Viper interrupted. She flung herself over Hayzin to land coiled around them both, squeezing them lightly together. Her red eyes looked down at them above a fanged smile as her tongue flicked out every few seconds.

When she uncoiled, Bein and Loria also approached to greet them in a much more soft-spoken manner. Behind the Cubone and Riolu, a crowd looked on. Most were amused, many curious, and some even looked to be studying Wartortle and Quil as if it were their first time seeing them. As if they were getting their first look at a celebrity in person.

Wartortle didn't know what to say. He felt overwhelmed. Twenty-six. Quil was also speechless. A round of light chuckling swept through the assembled Pokémon. Even Bein's eyes crinkled in his helmet's eye sockets.

“More of you came than I expected,” Wartortle finally managed, inciting a couple more chuckles.

“Row said you two view this as a singular mission,” Hayzin said. “As such, the Resistance decided to treat it as an urgent request of top importance. We've all come prepared to help as best as we can.”

“This is the entire Resistance?” Quil asked with disbelief.

Viper's head swung to and fro beside Hayzin as she said, “Yeah! You made it sound like this was the most bligging important mission ever, so we brought literally everything and everyone we possibly could.”

“I can't believe it,” said Wartortle.

“We can see that,” Bein grunted.

“Thanks!” Quil chirped. “Thank you all so much. This really is the most important mission ever. We're going to fix everything. Wartortle, we should meet everyone and thank them, since the Resistance came all this way.”

Wartortle nodded. Soon, he might be commanding the small force. If he was going to be putting the Resistance in danger, he owed every one of them an introduction at the minimum. Judging by many of their curious gazes, he'd actually be doing them a favor by personally introducing himself along with Quil.

The process ate up half an hour, but it was enjoyable. Wartortle felt that getting to know everyone who had come would help him strategize later on, too. The current members of the Resistance were a motley crew. Every Type was represented at least once. Some Pokémon were as small as Bein, but there was a Serperior longer than Viper. Many explained how honored they felt to be meeting the founders of the Resistance, and expressed their anticipation at fighting side by side. Many, however, appeared underwhelmed by the Wartortle and Quilava that stood before them.

The only familiar faces were Hayzin, Viper, Bein, Loria, and Row. The others were new. He met a Gengar wearing his perpetual grin, a brooding Scyther who almost looked like he'd rather be somewhere else, an Absol who slashed at Wartortle with zealous force during the introduction as if testing him, a shy Bulbasaur, a nameless Beartic and Sealeo who called themselves the Twins for some unfathomable reason, a rather vapid Pikachu, a Togetic with a fierce gleam in her eyes that left Wartortle feeling unsettled, and so many more.

After meeting a Machoke named Choppa, Bein spoke up from beside the Fighting-type.

“Remember the building partner I mentioned once or twice? Choppa. Finally found the idiot.” Choppa aimed a playful kick at Bein in return as Wartortle and Quil lit up at the news.

The Machoke laughed once, saying, “Not my fault you'd left Karprest by the time I got back there. Not my fault that Luxio scared you away. A Zapper scaring away a Grounder, ha!” His voice reminded Wartortle of people in his old life who would spend all their free time in weight rooms and gymnasiums.

Quil was about to say something but Bein was already responding to Choppa. “Get this. He heads for Karprest after finishing his 'training excursion', misses me by a day. So he decides to go right back to the mountains. Found him lifting rocks on the eastern side of Cradle Vale on the way here.”

Wartortle was fascinated by the transformation in Bein. He'd never heard such casual good humor from the Cubone. Bein was being...playful. Was that even possible? Choppa responded with no hint of offense taken, as if the two exchanged banter like this often.

“A 'mon's got to do something between battles. These muscles aren't going to build themselves, Bein. What if our next job is to build a house out of granite? You'll be thanking me for the time I spent training. Crying from how grateful you are, I bet.”

Bein let out a rumbling grunt, like a moan. “This 'mon. You believe him?”

Wartortle and Quil exchanged a look and shared a laugh. “He's right, Bein,” said Quil. “I don't know if you can manage any heavy lifting without Choppa doing all the work.”

He ducked and scampered away to the next 'mon to meet as Bein swung his bone at the Quilava's head.

When all of the introductions had been finished, Wartortle decided they'd better explain to everyone the situation in full. Row hadn't received the full picture, so the Resistance would not know either. All the Pokémon present sorted themselves into a circle around Wartortle and Quil so that everyone could see. Quil took it away.

“Again, thank you all so much for coming. When I'm done talking, I know you'll all see why I'm so grateful, as well as why it's so important that you're here. Some of you are going to think Wartortle and I have somehow been permanently Confused, but what I'm saying is the truth. Let me finish the whole thing before we discuss, please.”

He told them of heading north to Iyrodenin. Of finding not only Moltres, but also Victini in conversation. Predictably, many in the crowd scoffed, but they held their tongues as requested. He talked about what the talisman looked like, and Victini's ability to make himself invisible. Wartortle took over when Quil was knocked out, doing his best to share the experience of taking the talisman's power into his body and battling Moltres in the crater and in the open sky. Quil continued from when Moltres talked about the analogy of Wooper lake and the influence of the Legendary Birds. Heads in the crowd nodded in understanding of the concept, and again when Wartortle explained why only moves had been boosted instead of a Pokémon's entire being.

Quil told them all of Wartortle's deception to keep Victini in the vicinity of Iyrodenin while they traveled to Articuno's domain, but he faltered when he came to the conversation with Victini himself. Wartortle elegantly moved the story retelling past the dialogue about the lives of Tristan Pratts and Brayden Lester. The Resistance did not need to know about humanity, Victini's motivations, or his relationship with Victini. If they mentioned any of that, Wartortle and Quil would be in the canyon all day trying to get the Resistance to believe them. The necessity of hiding the full truth from the Pokémon who had come so far and placed their faith in them did not stop Wartortle from feeling guilty. Nevertheless, all the Resistance needed to know was that Victini was causing the boosts via his Victini abilities. Not who the Pokémon really was or why he was doing it.

Quil then relayed the moment of the Fire-boost, with Moltres circling the volcanic rim during the eruption. After a quick summary of their travels from Iyrodenin to the canyon where they now stood, the story was over. The Pokémon of the Resistance immediately began asking questions. Some were elaborations of the simple question 'Really?', but some were more insightful. Quil and Wartortle answered most questions confidently, like “How fast can Victini and Moltres fly?”, “How big was Moltres?”, and “Is it true that Nape started his bank because of you?”, but others were more difficult to respond to, like “Do you think Victini believed your lie about hiding near Iyrodenin?”, and “How can we win against a Legendary Pokémon?”

By the end of the question and answer session, Wartortle felt they had successfully banished the skepticism that the Resistance initially had about Victini and the Legendary Birds. These Pokémon had accepted his and Quil's words more readily than he'd expected. It showed that these were the Pokémon who had open minds enough to trek all the way here, and it showed that the Pokémon of the Resistance had faith in the two who had started it all. If any doubt remained, it wouldn't last long when they all met Articuno at the tip of the peninsula.

There was little else that needed to be said. A battle plan needed to be formulated, but that could be done on the move. What that battle plan would almost definitely entail, however, was Pokémon taking orders from Wartortle. He could see no other way. Every advantage counted, and he'd seen time and time again how his tactical approach to Pokémon battling had secured him a victory. Whether alone or with Quil, fighting on a level above instinctive use of one's moves was a great help. The Resistance would need that help if they hoped to win against a boosted Articuno.

So, Wartortle decided he had better okay that notion with the Pokémon around him before they all got moving toward the peninsula. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Our mission is to find Articuno on that peninsula, snatch the talisman causing the Ice boost, wait for Victini to show up, then ambush him. He's the ultimate source of the boosts, and thus our ultimate target. The details of how all that is going to happen can be worked out while we make our way to where Articuno roosts. But before we go I want to make something clear. Those of you that have been with me to Blindhollow and Karprest, you know this. Everyone else, you've probably heard about it.”

Time to turn up the bravado to 11. This isn't what I actually think, but it's the best way to ensure that they'll listen to me. Which in turn ensures we have the best chance of succeeding.

“I am not like other Pokémon. I do not think, talk, or behave like other Pokémon. You will hear me use expressions that you have never heard. You probably already have. You will hear me raising ideas that no one has ever imagined before. That's one reason the Resistance even got started in the first place. It's part of why Team Base looks and functions as it does. Most importantly, you will hear me calling out orders in battle. You will hear me, and you must obey. We will need every advantage possible to be successful on this mission. Compliance with the strategies I employ before and during the confrontation will be the greatest advantage we have. Keep your ears open, and we'll win. Understood?”

The gathered Pokémon looked around at each other. A few murmured conversations broke out. Wartortle did not miss the sneer on the face of the Gabite named Gareen, nor the leer he received from the Drowzee named Mahow. Understandable. Humans did not like being told what to do, so a culture wherein everyone fought all the time would only nurture larger egos.

The Gengar of the Resistance, called Keng, stepped forward from the circle. His voice was smoothly confident with a demeaning edge.

“Listen Wartortle, we're all happy ya started the Resistance. And yeh, we're glad you asked Row for our help and told us what you know about the boosts. But, ehhh, you're just a Wartortle. I don't want to battle ya in front of everyone, but I'd win easy. I should be the one in charge. We need a 'mon like me who can lead us against Articuno and do some actual damage. Sorry, 'tortle.”

Wartortle closed his eyes for a moment. Ever since Stolt's tour of Karprest, I've tried to be more humble. Less intimidating, if that's what I was. I really have. Now though, we don't need that Wartortle. We need a leader stronger than steel. I will atone for what I've done. I will end these boosts. This Gengar isn't going to stop me.

He opened his eyes. So much for humility.

“You should be in charge, Keng? I see. Well, tell me your plans. I'd love to hear them, really. We all would. How are we going to defeat Articuno of the Legendary Birds, and then capture another Legendary that can fly and become invisible? Go ahead, Keng.”

Evidently the Gengar was not expecting such a response from him. He did not sit back down, but neither did he say anything further. Keng scratched his face, glancing at the Pokémon across the circle. Wartortle saw them staring back with interest.

“I hope it's a fantastic plan,” Wartortle continued, “since this isn't a normal Pokémon we're up against. In fact, it's not even a Pokémon wielding a boosted element. This is a Legendary Pokémon. A Legendary Pokémon with the power of another Legendary Pokémon inside it. Victini's power.” He took a step closer to Keng. “What do you have in mind for us Keng? What are we going to do that will ensure the success of the mission?”

Keng's bluster was not so easily defeated. “Heh, you were right when ya said you're not like other 'mon, 'tortle. Who needs plans? Articuno will faint like every other 'mon if we all attack at once. There's twenty-nine of us. I counted. Numbers will let us win, like in ehhh-very other battle. You think I'm wrong?”

“Truly, a brilliant idea Keng. If we all attack together, we can all be frozen solid together. All at the same time. That way, no one will feel left out.” He made a show of shaking his head. “We've seen how powerful the moves of Ice-types are now. We've all felt the cold, even when we were nowhere near the move. Imagine how powerful the moves of Articuno will be. The embodiment of ice itself. I would know, because I battled Moltres on the peak of Iyrodenin with Quil. I know from experience how strong the Legendary Birds are. I know how they fight, and I will use that knowledge to help us win against Articuno. If we all rush in at once, it'll make Articuno's job easy. I already figured that one out a while ago.”

Wartortle did not know that the Gengar species was capable of frowning, but Keng's grin did indeed turn downward at the ends to become a frown. Still, he would not sit down.

Quil raised his voice to the circle. “I've traveled at Wartortle's side since before we started the Resistance. I used to think it was bizarre and unnecessary when he talked during battles or asked me to use moves in strange ways. I used to wonder why he wouldn't fight like everyone else. Now I understand. Wartortle's careful planning is what let us take back Blindhollow. His dedication to strategy is what got us this far.”

Wartortle dared not show any softness on his face, but he was touched by his friend's words.

“Wartortle will make this mission a success, and Krow's luck to anyone in his way. You 'mon who have traveled with him in the past, do you agree?”

Hayzin, Viper, and even Bein and Loria all lent their voices to a bestial cheer. Wartortle could not resist as a grateful smile split his face.

“Pokémon of the Resistance,” he said, “make your choice. Will you fight with me when the time comes?”

Every Pokémon in the circle cried out. Keng slumped back down in his spot.

“When the time comes, are you prepared to fight at my side against Legendary Pokémon?”

The Resistance yelled to show their willingness. The cry echoed off the walls of the canyon, sounding like far more than twenty-nine Pokémon. Wartortle slowly turned to eye each and every one of them with a severe expression.

“Are you ready to defy the legends by putting an end to these unnatural boosts once and for all?”

Wartortle could see Quil's ears fold back against the roar of sound as the Resistance shouted its defiance to the world. The Pokémon were on their feet now. He let the smile return to his face.

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” He strode southeast toward the base of the peninsula ahead. The Pokémon at the circle's edge stood aside to let him pass through. As he did, the Resistance broke formation and hastened to follow behind him.

* * *

At Wartortle's request, Hayzin gathered all the item-toting Pokémon as they walked. Viper was the one wearing the second pack that Wartortle had had custom ordered in Cavetown after the events of Blindhollow. Two others in the Resistance also carried packs, though these were little more than plain sacks with a single carrying strap. Wartortle sifted through the contents of all three, mentally tabulating all of the items at his disposal for the mission.

Much of what the Resistance had brought was provisions. Enough food to feed an army which, Wartortle supposed, wasn't too far from the truth. The rest of the items gave him plenty of food for thought. For many of them, he had to ask what their purpose was. Added to the supplies Quil still carried, he finally had his full list. Four Oran Berries, one Chesto Berry, one Sleep Seed, one Totter Seed, three Blast Seeds, the Detect Band, the Defense Scarf, and a purple cloth called a Zinc Band. The Zinc Band was reported to raise one's resistance to elemental techniques; it was sure to come in handy against Articuno. The Sleep Seed and Totter Seed were the kind of seed with a delicate membrane that would rupture upon impact with a Pokémon to release their chemicals, inflicting a sudden slumber and disorientation respectively. Wartortle doubted the seeds would work against a Legendary Pokémon, especially given how quickly Moltres had healed from the battle, but they were worth a shot.

“The last mission I attended,” Hayzin said as Wartortle looked through one of the sacks, “we discovered that the Oran Berry is especially useful. We have been purchasing and stockpiling them in this last week. Now we have four.”

“They sure are incredible,” Wartortle agreed. “I fed one to Quil after our battle with Moltres. It's amazing how fast they work, isn't it?”

Hayzin nodded. “How do you plan to make use of our inventory?”

“Still working on that one. I'll let you know when we're closer so we can all discuss it together. Like old times.”

A smile touched the Zekstrika's muzzle. “Like old times. You use the strangest expressions, Wartortle. That's coming from someone who's done a great deal of traveling.”

Wartortle dropped his gaze. “I'll work on that plan.” When he looked up again, Hayzin had fallen back into the larger mass of the Resistance.

I'd better tell them everything once this is all over, he thought. They deserve to know the truth behind the Wartortle issuing orders. Especially the ones who have been with Quil and I since near the beginning: Bein, Hayzin, and Viper.

The rest of the day passed by rapidly for Wartortle. His thoughts occupied almost his full attention. He felt like a trainer on his way to the stadium for the region's championship match, and his opponent was the best in the world thirty years running. The other problem was he'd only just finished reading the rules of the competition and the advice for beginners, and now he was expected to earn his team the victory against the best of the best. Still, Wartortle believed in himself. He knew he could do it, but that victory would require very, very clever thinking.

He imagined the scenario turning out a hundred possible ways. He mentally organized the members of the Resistance and their items into different arrangements, trying to calculate how the results would be different each time. He double-checked, then triple-checked. Could he be absolutely sure of every logical leap he was making? His planning needed to be perfect. Everyone was relying on him. Everyone would suffer if he failed. Not only here, but Pokémon everywhere with problems related to the boost.

How tough would a boosted Legendary actually be? What was the geography of Articuno's roost? Would the Pokémon of the Resistance abide by his commands? What moves were known by Articuno, and what were their effects? So many unknowns. He worked with what he knew and hoped it would be enough.

Some of his questions could fortunately be answered by the Pokémon around him. Questions about the strengths and weaknesses of the Ice element, and the Type web in general. Questions about the moves known by the Resistance capable of inflicting conditions. He was in the midst of a discussion with a Mawile named Wily when the Resistance passed by a wild Mienfoo.

“And this Metal Burst technique,” Wartortle was asking Wily. “Does it work every time?”

The Mienfoo jumped at the Resistance's Absol with its knee raised to deliver a kick. The combat was happening only a few feet ahead of Wartortle and the Mawile. Wily said, “No, no it doesn't. It works more often when the attack used against me isn't very strong.”

The moment the Mienfoo landed its kick, three bodies slammed into it, taking it out of Wartortle's field of vision. A flurry of spinning leaves and an onslaught of rocks followed the Mienfoo and its aggressors out of sight.

“Shame,” Wartortle said. “Have you tried it against a boosted Pokémon's moves?”

A flash of light and some Pokémon's shriek came from behind as Wily replied, “Yes. My Metal Burst once worked against some Zapper's bolt. I was barely conscious enough to see her go down as well.”

Wartortle glanced behind. The Pokémon involved in the battle returned to the rest, leaving behind a very unconscious Mienfoo. “That's good news,” he said. “Please try that Metal Burst against Articuno. If you get it to work, it'll make the battle a whole lot easier.”

“Understood, Wartortle!”

He nodded and increased his pace to catch up to Hayzin. Cloud cover was rolling in. Hopefully it wouldn't rain or snow. “Hayzin, do you know of any Pokémon here with moves that affect a very large area? A move like the electricity you were using during the Blindhollow battle, but even larger range?”

“Ah, the Twins can help you. I've seen them use a technique that is exactly what you're looking for.”

“The Beartic and Sealeo?” Wartortle said as Hayzin led them further back through the crowd. “They can't be siblings, they're not even...” He trailed off, not wanting to be disrespectful, as they reached the Twins walking side by side.

Hayzin explained what Wartortle had asked about, and the two Ice-types were eager to help. Once they told Wartortle what they could do, he agreed with Hayzin that these two would be perfect.

“Excellent. After we reach Articuno, I have a special task for you two, and you two alone. I know your moves are boosted, but please try to stay safe in the battle. Yours is perhaps the most important role of all. We should have enough time afterward to prepare, but you never know. We can't afford to take any chances.”

After discussing the particulars with the Twins and receiving their agreement to do as he asked, the day was mostly spent. The Resistance had made it to where the mainland extended into the peninsula. Wartortle called for a halt at sunset. He still needed time to delineate his plans for all the Resistance to hear. As day passed into night, Wartortle called to his side Quil, Bein, Viper, Hayzin, and Loria. They all had experience acting as a sounding board for his plans, and they were a small enough group that a discussion was possible. They appeared to agree with the direction his mind had taken him. After a few fine adjustments, Wartortle stood before the rest of the Resistance before the hour grew too late. Quil was right beside him, ready to back him up if needed.

“Everyone, you've seen that this peninsula isn't very long. We'll be able to reach Articuno before tomorrow night. I know what I'm about to ask of you is not how most of you normally fight. Although maybe you Dark-types are different? Anyway, I propose a stealthy approach to Articuno. We'll avoid battling Articuno until after we've taken away the talisman.”

To his deep relief, there was no uproar. He continued with greater confidence. “That will make the fight much, much easier. The talisman looks like a rock on a cord, probably being worn around Articuno's neck. We'll come in at night and sneak very close. Moltres isn't nocturnal, so neither is Articuno. One of you, to whom I have already spoken, will slip the talisman off while Articuno is asleep. I'm certain that Articuno will then wake up and we'll have a battle on our hands. Without the talisman though, our victory against Articuno is assured.”

Many of the gathered Pokémon seemed confused by the strategy, as if they couldn't wrap their heads around encountering their target but not immediately battling. At least his core team members had faith in him.

Wartortle pushed forward to the gritty tactical details of the plan. The formation he wanted the Resistance in as they approached the Legendary. The roles each and every one of them was to fill. Who would be using offensive techniques. Who would be carrying and utilizing items. Who would be taking blows from the Articuno, whenever possible, to protect the boosted Pokémon present. In some ways, this battle plan was the culmination of everything Wartortle had learned about battling as a Pokémon. He recalled Bein absorbing Raizula's Electric attacks. Developing Ember Arc and other tactics with Quil. Using a Blast Seed to defeat a Pidgeotto. Circling around Moltres to flank her. The wisdom from all the experiences he'd had in all the different sorts of battles in his time on Preserve Alpha was being used for this final strategy. All told, Wartortle was confident in what he'd come up with. It was bound to work.

This time, it wouldn't be like Karprest. This was a black and white issue. Articuno's talisman was the source of the Ice boost. It needed to be removed. Articuno would obviously wish to keep the talisman, thus Articuno needed to be battled. Wartortle was more than ready to give this battle his all. There would be no doubt here, no hesitation. Wartortle had become a Pokémon to reverse the damage that Victini had done. Here, he would atone.

“We'll make our move on Articuno in the very early morning hours the day after tomorrow. Once we've won the battle, the hard part will be over. We'll need to keep Articuno subdued when, inevitably, the Legendary struggles to take the talisman back. Then we need only wait for Victini to come after noticing that Ice is no longer boosted. I'll lay out my plans for that ambush after this battle. Hopefully time allows. Does anyone have any questions?”

The Pokémon who had none were soon dispersing to find a good spot to rest. Wartortle stayed up for another hour, clarifying the details for certain members of the Resistance. Most of the queries pertained to what exactly Wartortle wanted them to do in the battle. Despite his growing fatigue, Wartortle was happy to work with each confused Pokémon to ensure they were prepared to enter the battlefield with confidence. At last the questions ended. Except for Quil, Wartortle was the last Pokémon to head to bed. The Quilava had stayed awake by his side in case he needed a second opinion, which did happen a couple of times. Other than Wartortle himself, no one knew better how Wartortle's mind worked. His head was still spinning with schemes and stratagems as Wartortle dropped off to sleep in his shell.

The next day was wrought with unspoken tension. Everyone knew that the following day would see their mission ended in great success or utter failure. There would be no in-between. The Resistance trekked directly north through the mountainous country of the peninsula. By midday, they'd covered enough miles to view the sea both east and west of the tapering peninsula. Far to the west, Wartortle imagined he could point to the inlet marking the ruins of Port Rein. The thick snowfall disallowed an actual line of sight, however.

The overcast skies had, unfortunately, given birth to a snowstorm. For a Pokémon, being out in the open was an inconvenience as opposed to a severe health concern, but Wartortle still wished they would have had clear weather for the final approach. He held his tail close to his shell-back as the strong winds whipped falling snowflakes to and fro. The storm was worst when their route took them along cliffside paths high up in the mountains. Everyone got a breather during the low segments close to sea level, then everyone braced themselves for each ascent back into the howling winds and chilling snowfall. Everyone except the Twins, the only Ice-types present. They looked to be loving the snowstorm. Poor Gareen the Gabite was having the worst time of anyone. Wartortle had half a mind to ask Quil to use Ember on the Dragon-type to warm him up, but he feared insulting the Pokémon's dignity.

Weather, haven't you ever heard of the calm before the storm? Wartortle thought as he tramped through a patch of fresh snow on the rock. Tomorrow's the big day, not today. I suppose since we're approaching Articuno's domain, it probably snows often. I wonder if that's because of Articuno's presence, or if Articuno chose to roost here because of the local rate of snowfall.

The mountains closer to the peninsula's end were unlike any Wartortle had ever seen. The rock pointed sharply out of the earth at angles, like broken pieces of bone emerging from skin. The mountains were jagged, with innumerable sharp points. The snowfall did nothing to pad the edges, as it ended up nestling in the crevices and hidden parts of the mountain range. Sheer, bare rock was everywhere. Like the Ice element, these mountains were cold, hard, and bleak.

Ice itself was in abundance. Everywhere Wartortle might look, there were large formations of ice dotting the landscape. Here a massive spur of blue-white ice, there a line of smaller ice spikes like stalagmites. He could not tell if these were the sites of Ice-type moves in the past, now frozen into eternal monuments in these cold mountains, or if ice storms in months and years gone by had resulted in the icy structures. Possibly Articuno had intentionally created them as thematic decoration. Wartortle settled on that hypothesis, as it brought him a modicum of warm amusement in the frigid land.

At times, the best path forward led them into the cloud cover, a lifeless world of swirling mists and icy wind. Wartortle, with the help of the other Pokémon in the lead, had to trust his sense of direction to keep them on course. One minute they might be walking on solid rock, the next, on massive spears of ice extruding from the mountain side. Wartortle could see the reflection of his face in the semi-translucent ice beneath his feet. Then they'd be walking down a rocky mountainside, or leaping across a crevasse.

The snowstorm passed in the later hours of the afternoon, though the cold and the clouds lingered. The frequency of the ice formations increased closer to the peninsular tip. The mountains were rife with ice crystals growing out of the slopes. Many of the mountainsides had large patches of slick ice that rendered the terrain impassable. Even the occasional arch of ice bridged two nearby mountains at the lower elevations. Here, the peninsula was very narrow, only two or three miles across. Finally, sequestered in the shadows of a larger mountain an hour before nightfall, Wartortle called for the march to end for the day. They were close enough to the end of the peninsula that the Resistance would easily be able to reach it given another hour or two of hiking. The final approach would happen early in the morning of the next day, or very late that night, depending on how one looked at it. That way, Articuno would not spot them coming, and everyone would be rested for the main event.

Wartortle advised the Resistance to get some early shut-eye, as they'd be getting up well before daybreak to get the jump on Articuno. After the cold and tiring hike through the storm, most of them eagerly took him up on that advice. Wartortle joined them in huddling close for warmth. Like the assemblage in Swanna's lodge on his first night as a Squirtle, the Pokémon of the Resistance now formed more or less a huge pile of packed bodies.

The morning arrived all too quickly. He was uncommonly slow in rousing himself and emerging from his shell. Grogginess congested his mind as he tried to recall why he had to get up so early. Even once the Resistance was up and moving toward the last segment of the hike, Wartortle struggled with his sleep inertia. The movements of the Pokémon around him were also, for the most part, sluggish and disoriented.

Pokémon may have extraordinary capabilities that far exceed those of humans, but we sure need our rest, Wartortle thought. I could sleep sundown to sunup every night, easily.

The cloud cover had receded some, though an early morning mist pervaded the mountains. The open sea to the east did not yet hint at the glow of a sunrise. The night had free rein. Fortunately, the moon was full where it hung a few degrees above the western horizon. Its wan light had a ghostly quality when it shone down on the craggy landscape of rock and ice. Wartortle could see a hundred instances of the moon reflected in the frozen patches and crystalline structures all around.

As the Resistance traversed a pass high up in the mountains, Wartortle had his first glimpse of Articuno's roost. The peninsula ended less than a mile ahead from the pass. Some thousand feet lower in altitude, he spotted an exposed plateau made purely of ice. Even though it was night, and the misty clouds still flowed among the peaks to obscure the details of the terrain, Wartortle could tell it was ice by the way he caught moonlight glistening off its multifaceted surface. It looked to be about two hundred feet in diameter, but the clouds and darkness made it impossible to see in full. The raised plateau was clearly constructed; he had not yet seen any ice structure so large nor so precisely defined. This was the centerpiece of the entire peninsula.

I wouldn't call it a 'fortress', like Rytos and Moltres both said, though it's certainly very defensible.

The only way onto the plateau, other than flight, was a plain bridge of white ice leading from the plateau's nearest edge to the mountainside down below. The descent would be brief, leaving plenty of time before sunrise. With the entirety of the Resistance at his back, Wartortle descended the cold slope of the mountain toward the icy bridge below.

Articuno of the Legendary Birds was in for a rude awakening.


	43. Plateau

Wartortle stood before the bridge of stark white ice. Though it had no supports, the ice was so wide and thick that Wartortle had no doubt it would support even the largest and heaviest of the Resistance Pokémon. After crossing, they'd be free to scour the exposed plateau for Articuno's precise location. The flowing mists of the night shrouded the plateau even from the bright light of the full moon.

He could neither see nor hear anything up ahead. That was good; their descent to the bridge had been sufficiently stealthy. Wartortle had been so cautious as to request that Quil extinguish his fires for the approach. If Articuno knew they were here, it would be optimal for the Legendary to stop them at the bridge choke-point. Even without a boost, Articuno would be able to hold that narrow bottleneck against any number of Pokémon. But Articuno wasn't here.

So far, so good, thought Wartortle as he turned to the gathered Resistance. The faces looking back at him were fully awake now. Not a single one of them displayed any reluctance. Wartortle gathered the pack-carriers together, then distributed their items to the Resistance according to his plans.

After that was done, he spoke in a low voice that wouldn't carry to the plateau. “This is it. After we cross the bridge, everyone please form up like we discussed. From there, keep quiet, take it nice and slow. Once we find Articuno and the talisman is off, give everything you've got.”

The nods he received from some of them in return were solemn enough, but Wartortle couldn't help but feel he should say something more. This was, as they say, 'the moment of truth'. Wasn't this the part where the leader of the army said some inspiring words to stir the troops to readiness?

The moment stretched longer. Nothing came to mind.

So he faced the ice bridge and strode cautiously across. The rest of the Resistance was on the icy plateau with him and in formation within a minute, with no incident. Wartortle fell back to his own position as everyone pushed slowly forward toward the opposite edge about two hundred feet away.

Now that he was actually on the plateau, Wartortle could see that the surface wasn't quite flat, but slightly concave. The edges turned upward protectively, making it not a plateau but a huge, shallow bowl. Much like the crater of Iyrodenin, Wartortle realized. Though the ground was solid ice, it was not the smooth, slippery kind of ice. This ice was hard, rough, and coated with a sheen of white frost that helped him grip the surface. Nonetheless, his claws would prove more useful than normal if he needed to make a sharp turn. The bottoms of his feet felt the cold on every step, but they were in no danger of growing numb any time soon.

Shapes loomed in the misty night as he crept forward with the others. Some resolved into crystalline growths, like saplings made of pure ice. Others into thick icicles extending upward, as if formed by freezing water dripping from the plateau into the sky. The mist swirled and flowed around him with a will of its own. Droplets began condensing on Wartortle's skin. He glanced upward, and was not surprised to see the glow of the moon had been blocked by the dense vapor. Even the Pokémon at the limits of the formation were hidden from him.

The slope of the ground evened out before curving gently upward. They'd passed the center of the bowl. Wartortle inspected all of the icy formations he passed, but there was still no sign of their quarry. Articuno would be at the far side of the bowl, then. As close as possible to the view of the peninsula's end and the sea beyond. It made sense; that's where Wartortle would roost, if he were Articuno.

A couple of minutes later, the Resistance's steady foray across the plateau reached its end. Wartortle first saw the edge of the bowl through the mists on his left, then on the right, then finally straight ahead. All that lay beyond was open space and the shore of the peninsula far below. Articuno was nowhere in sight. Wartortle didn't understand. Like a long comb, the formation had stretched laterally enough to guarantee a sighting wherever the Legendary might be on the icy platform.

His heart sank, though there was a possibility they'd only notice Articuno while going the opposite direction. He indicated with his hands that everyone should turn around and walk back toward the bridge. A moment later, he noticed Loria nearby looking very agitated. The twin black appendages dangling from the Riolu's head were wobbling from an unseen force. She crouched and turned a slow circle, her eyes frantically searching the mists. The black dangles trembled as they rose steadily upward until they were parallel to the ground. Abruptly she straightened and looked to the sky. Wartortle followed her gaze.

A shadow descended from the skies above. The ground shook as something large landed on the ice in the center of the bowl, blocking the formation's path. A strong gust of frosty wind followed. Wartortle threw up his arms to shield his eyes as the mist was blown to the edges of the bowl. Articuno stood in the clearing.

“Welcome to my present home. You will not enjoy your time here.”

The voice from Articuno's short beak was neither obviously female nor obviously male, like Moltres'. And again, if Wartortle had to guess, he would say she was female. Her voice had an easy volume that filled Wartortle's ears. Unlike Moltres, her tone was disinterested, almost aloof. She spoke as if making small talk until something more important came along.

The blue and white feathers of her plumage were the perfect match for the ice he'd seen among the mountains the previous day. Strikingly beautiful, but austere. She folded her wings while eying the Resistance beneath the heavy teal crest adorning her forehead. Thick talons dug partway into the ice as her long tail flowed behind her in a wind that Wartortle could not feel. It gleamed like ice. A tiny orange rock rested against the mass of white feathers on her breast. The talisman hung around her neck by a thin and very short cord. Wartortle might have missed the rock, were he not looking for it.

Wartortle raised an arm and took a deep breath of icy air to confidently sound the offensive. She got the jump on us, and we haven't got the talisman off her yet, but we can still win!

A second form plummeted toward them from the dark clouds high above. The plateau shook once again. Another Pokémon had landed on Articuno's right, between the center of the bowl and its edge.

Its vivid yellow wings framed by black feathers extended outward like a starburst. Its face, too, had long pointy feathers that reminded Wartortle of Quil's spiky flames. A very long orange beak extended downward as it inspected the Pokémon of the Resistance. Behind its orange talons, Wartortle could see a shockingly yellow tail, also framed by black. Crackling electricity jumped between its wingtips.

Zapdos.

“There are not NEARLY enough of you,” she proclaimed. “One of us alone could overwhelm ALL of you. YOU WILL FAIL!”

Her powerful voice was much like that of Articuno and Moltres, but with a unique cadence. Certain words were emphatically drawn out like rolling thunder, while the ends of most other words had been bitten off.

“They are snowflakes,” Articuno said after a pause, looking down on the members of the Resistance. “Falling through the air and trying to make sense of their brief existence before melting on the earth. Impulse drives them, not wisdom. We shall neither pity nor envy their shortsighted nature. It is their way.”

Why? thought Wartortle, despairing. Why is Zapdos here? Have they united for self-interest? To watch one another's back against any who might end the boosts? But Moltres made it sound like each one of the Legendary Birds kept to herself. How would Zapdos have even known we were coming here?

He could feel the awe of the Pokémon around him. Hand in hand with awe was doubt. Their confidence had evaporated like so much mist before the presence of the two Legendaries. If Wartortle were to signal a charge into battle, he sensed he would be one of only a few who were willing to attack.

An identical talisman hung around Zapdos' neck. If by some whimsical stroke of fate the Resistance was able to defeat both of the Legendary Birds, then two boosts would be terminated. An even greater victory, resulting in greater peace to the Pokémon suffering from the Ice and Electric boosts. That was if the Resistance could win. Could they win, against two Legendaries? Both boosted by the talismans? Even if the Resistance was still raring to battle, would they even land any hits before being frozen and electrocuted?

A third form hurtled downward from the clouds. This one was not a shadow in the night, but a beacon that trailed fire as it dove to the plateau. With a cascade of embers and flourish of fiery wings, Moltres landed on Articuno's other side. Her glorious flames lit the bowl like daylight. Any lingering mist in the center of the bowl burned away. Firelight reflected off the icy plateau surface and swirling vapor at the edges of the bowl. It had become an arena with fire-lit white mists serving as the walls.

“Let us be done with this chore,” said Moltres. A third talisman rested against her pale plumage. “This sanctum of darkness and ice is not suitable for Fire.”

Articuno did not look at her when she responded a moment later. “Patience. He cannot fly as we do. Recall he wanted to speak to the Wartortle.”

“I cannot fathom why he wishes to exchange words with a Wartortle,” Zapdos rumbled.

Wartortle realized he'd been holding his breath. The pressure exuding from all three Legendaries was a tangible force. The very air was taut, reluctant to flow in and out of his mouth. He struggled to make sense of what the Legendary Birds were talking about while his head felt like it was being squeezed.

“I'm here, I'm here!” came a faint, squeaky voice from high above.

Empty air resolved into a speck of orange and creamy white descending toward the plateau. Victini. He settled onto Articuno's head, straddling the middle piece of her crest. Articuno went rigid. Her neck flexed, as if to throw Victini off, but she seemed to think better of that idea. Victini patted the side of the crest, a calming gesture fit for a raging, wild Rapidash.

Victini was here. Victini had somehow known of his plans. And all three of the Legendary Birds were here to stop him. Wartortle's legs gave way beneath him. He had no strength to hold himself up. His shell's bottom clinked against the ice as he sat on the cold floor. He had played into Victini's hand. What hope was there?

“Yep!” Victini called, his eyes shining as they met Wartortle's. “I knew you were coming. I admit I didn't expect you to bring a small army, but it really doesn't matter how many Pokémon you bring. I've got the three Legendary Birds, each overflowing with the power of Victini. You had some clever strategy I'm sure, but it's worthless now.”

Quil spoke up over the Resistance's awed murmuring of “Victini!” to each other. “Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres, why are you working with him? He's not a real Legendary like you all are. You could easily beat him in a battle!”

“Oh, they certainly could fight me and win, silly Quilava,” said Victini, “but I won't give them any more of my power unless I have their strict obedience. They'll need me to refill their little rocks every month or two. The Legendary Birds do as I say, or they don't receive a single drop. That's called 'leverage'.” He giggled with high-pitched squeaks.

He focused on Wartortle again. “I've had them unite here against Brayden so that there's no chance of any boost being reversed. I can't have my timetables pushed back, oh no I can't!”

“How?” Wartortle croaked. Victini, the brilliant scientist that he was inside, easily caught his meaning.

“It was a nifty strategy, Brayden, pretending to catch me eavesdropping on your planning. Too bad I saw through it. You're not a great liar, you never were. Not like me. So I knew you'd do the opposite of what I heard you say. I knew you'd go to Articuno or Zapdos while you thought I was guarding Iyrodenin like a common Growlithe. Ha!”

He shook with glee atop Articuno's crest while all three Legendary Birds stood still, apparently awaiting orders. “You're smart Brayden, but I'm smarter. I've always been one step ahead of you. Do you realize you've accomplished absolutely nothing since coming to this island? You haven't stopped a single boost. You haven't made a teensy bit of difference. I'll concede that you put up a good effort, but you haven't even outsmarted me once. Come on, I expected better!”

He's right. It's over. It's all over. All we had going for us was my strategy. A strategy to be used against Articuno alone. A strategy intended to catch her sleeping. What a fool I am. Victini beat me long ago.

“The effects of the boosts are in full swing,” Victini continued, growing more serious. “The chaos is uncontainable. Now that the foundation is established, I'm really going to make headway now. I have to make sure that progress remains progress though, so unfortunately, I'm going to stop you here once and for all Brayden. I can't have you meddling anymore. You and all your stupid Pokémon pals that you've gathered are not going to threaten my ambitions any longer. It's time to end this.”

Wartortle found he could no longer bear to look at Victini, the human-turned-Pokémon who had thoroughly bested him, so he looked instead at the other Pokémon of the Resistance. The intimidating presence of four Legendaries had accomplished a feat he'd thought impossible. The Resistance cowered. They wanted to not fight. Not one of them looked ready to rise up and battle with all they had. These were Pokémon who knew there was no hope of victory. They knew they were in far, far over their heads.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Victini said, cheery once again. “I heard there was a really strong Charizard locked away somewhere, so I poked around a bit. I was going to save him for 'Phase Two' of my plan, given he supposedly destroyed an entire town by himself, but I think I'll use him now in case you have some secret weapon or tactic that only works against Legendaries.”

He cupped his mouth with his tiny hands and shouted to the skies. “Come on down, Chando!”

Wartortle knew it was impossible for his heart to sink further, yet it did. A burning flame broke out of the low cloud layer and descended to the plateau with an earth-shaking roar. It was much louder than even Magon the Salamence's had been at Karprest. Wartortle cringed before the feral might ringing in his ears as he struggled to draw in enough breath from the taut air.

A Charizard pulled up short to circle above the arena on wings of blue. His tail flame burned with life on the tip of his tail. His long neck bent downward, and the Charizard peered down at them all as he circled.

“The power,” he howled, “Give me that power again Victini, I must feel it, I must become it! PLEASE!”

This was not the same Charizard that had shared his story with a Squirtle and Cyndaquil from within his prison cell. That Charizard had been pensive, regretful. The Charizard in that quiet gloom had been in full possession of his faculties. This Charizard was out of control. His fearsome claws clenched repeatedly and he flapped his wings with jittery, broken motions.

He's having one of his fits, Wartortle realized. He's completely out of his mind, regressed to an emotional beast seeking destruction. Just like in his story about Port Rein all those years ago. He's Chando now, through and through.

“Only if you do as I say, 'kay?” Victini replied with a finger raised sternly.

“Yes, tell me your desire, I will see it done, TELL ME!” The Charizard's snorted a gout of flame. The flash of light let Wartortle see that his blue eyes were bloodshot and rolling in their sockets. He felt a small chill run down his spine.

“When I give the word, go ahead and unleash all that fury on the Pokémon in front of Articuno. Don't stop until nothing is moving. Kill them if you can. Oh, and wear one of my super rocks. I'm sure you'll love it!” he finished in a sing-song voice before making another talisman seem to appear out of thin air, tied to his hip.

Wartortle watched as Victini rose into the air, offering the talisman to the Charizard. The Legendary watched the Resistance closely for any warning of an attack as he did so. No one in the Pokémon around Wartortle was inclined to prevent the hand-off, and Wartortle himself shared their sentiments. Any chance of victory was dead and gone. It was better to let it happen. To enjoy the show. There was no need to get worked up over a confrontation that could only end one way. The victors would be Victini, the three Legendary Birds wearing talismans, and perhaps the world's toughest Charizard, now also boosted by Victini's power. Wartortle doubted that even the united strength of every Pokémon in Preserve Alpha would be able to defeat their Legendary foes.

Victini squeaked some chuckles. “Let's see how pure, passionate power for power's sake matches up against your precious tactics, Brayden.”

Chando roared again, somehow even louder than his first. It was a primal cry with no particular meaning. The talisman rested against his chest as he flapped in place. He sprayed bright flames in an arc that reached almost a hundred feet. Wartortle could feel the heat of the boosted flames from the plateau. He remembered the feeling of that power, that overwhelming flood of energy driving him to action. Regardless of Victini's orders, Chando would be unable to remain still for long. The end would soon arrive.

Zapdos shuffled a bit on the ice, and sparks leaped from her talons. Moltres' fires flared incrementally brighter for a moment. The Legendary Birds watched the Pokémon of the Resistance. Wartortle imagined he could see an eager glint in each of their eyes. Legendary they may be, but all Pokémon loved to battle. Once Victini gave the word, it would all be over.

Everything Wartortle had been working for would be crushed. All the effort Quil and the others had given, worthless in the end. The strategies he'd perfected. The items he'd gathered. The days packed with busy preparations. All of it for nothing. The Resistance would lose, the Legendaries would disperse, and the boosts would never be stopped. Victini would be free to carry out his plan of cleansing the island for humanity.

Yes, it was awful to think about. He wished dearly that it was not so. But both parts of Wartortle knew he'd lost utterly. Mathematically, the combined power of the Legendary Birds and Chando was orders of magnitude larger than his feeble Resistance. His gut told him that this battle was hopeless. Wartortle was proud of what he'd accomplished. What a shame that ultimately, the Resistance was powerless. They were outclassed. Legendaries would always win against ordinary Pokémon. Myths and stories, whether Pokémon or human in origin, were about Legendaries for a good reason; they had the power to change the world. Wartortle did not. Quil did not. None of them did.

Wartortle sighed as he stood. He'd better meet the onslaught on his feet, for the sake of the Resistance. He glanced around, trying to convey an apology in the moments they had left. How sorry he was. How wrong he had been. If he could do it all again, he would not have dragged all of these helpful Pokémon on his insane quest. Now they would suffer because of his foolishness.

He found Quil in the group, the one least deserving of being on this icy plateau before the Legendaries. The one who always saw the best in others, who encouraged them to be all they could be. The one who gave one hundred percent of himself to his endeavors, and then some. The heart and soul of the Resistance. And the one who'd mistakenly believed in Wartortle so many, many times on their journey together. Wartortle felt he could spend a day with Quil and never adequately apologize for the colossal failure he'd been.

Quil met his gaze, through the formation of Pokémon separating them. His brow was furrowed, his mouth a hard line. He rose to his hind legs and shook his head decisively. Wartortle could not hear him, but his lips formed the word 'No'. The Quilava dashed forward, placing himself between the Legendary Birds and the front of the Resistance Pokémon.

“When Wartortle and I started the Resistance on a dirt road between Blindhollow and Cavetown, we made a decision to throw away our personal priorities. We realized that the oppression, imbalance, and suffering that were happening couldn't be dealt with later. We switched the entire focus of our lives to work against the Zapper boost.”

The arena listened in tense silence. Wartortle strained to hear Quil's quiet voice over the air's pressure in his ears. Every eye was upon Quil.

“Now here we are. Two ordinary 'mon among so many others who share that brief, naive vision of ours. This is the biggest team the Resistance has ever seen. All our supplies are prepared. We've never had so much potential in one place. The best we could ever hope to give is what we have right now.”

“And now is the one time that the Resistance refuses to fight? Why should now be any different? Because our opponents are strong? Sure, they're intimidating. What they can do is scary. I felt it too: the surprise, the awe, the fear. These are 'mon we've heard stories about since the day we hatched. But do you remember what else we grew up hearing? That appearances don't win battles. Size doesn't win battles. Don't surrender, don't give up when you can still fight!”

Wartortle spared a glance to Chando and the Legendaries. The Charizard had taken to circling again, perhaps trying to work off some of his new energy. The Legendary Birds watched Quil without moving, their faces inscrutable. Wartortle was not surprised to witness patience from them, but Victini? That bundle of frenetic energy? A frown played about his small lips, his expression thoughtful.

“None of us expected all of these 'mon to be here,” Quil said. “Life is crazy. It takes you places you never dreamed of seeing, and puts you in situations you never wanted to be in. But the source of each boost is in front of us. We couldn't ask for more a more ideal battle. Do you think I'm going to lie down and let this opportunity pass? The chance to sweep clear every request on that board in Team Base in a single moment? To fix the boosts forever? To end all the suffering in these lands? This is our final and most important mission. It's happening right here, and right now.”

“If we accept defeat here, we're abandoning all the Pokemon who are counting on us. We're saying that we saw a challenge and we bowed down to it. We're supposed to resist, not submit! Or were we wrong to call ourselves the Resistance?”

Wartortle could sense a shift in the mood of the Pokémon around him. Gareen the Gabite raised his claws to readiness. Bein lifted the tip of his bone from the ground, hefting it onto his shoulder. That instinctual urge to battle was rising to the surface in all of them. Quil's voice was passionate now, and easy to hear.

“I have a burning feeling inside my chest. Something that's more than my fire, as a Flame. Something that's more than my urge to fight. Something that's not just a desire to win, or to say that I defeated the Legendary Birds. It's the feeling that everything is up to me. That this is the most important moment of my life. I know some of you can feel it too, if you look past your fear.”

He swept the Resistance with his ruby eyes, completely ignoring the three Legendary Birds standing behind him. Wartortle raised a hand to feel the warmth beneath his scutes. He could feel it. A spark buried beneath his despair.

“Every 'mon in these lands is with us on this plateau of ice, because they all have the same goal. They all want these horrible boosts to end. They all want us to win here. Every Pokemon that matters to you. Every opponent you've ever faced, your families, your friends. Everyone living in the wild, everyone in every town. Everyone you've ever met.”

Images of the Pokémon that Wartortle had met along the way flashed in his mind. Keel, the Marshtomp who had taught him to use his element. The Wartortle of Blindhollow who tended the Seed Nursery. Zell, the Buizel who was striving to achieve his potential. Others, so many others.

“What would they say if they saw you cowering like this? If we fail now, all of them will suffer. Are you going to let them down?”

“No,” Wartortle heard himself whisper into the cold air. The others around him murmured words as well.

“They need us to fight!” Quil yelled. “They need us to win! This battle is more important any you've ever fought, or ever will fight. Today we're fighting for every one of them!” Quil turned to face Victini and the Legendary Birds.

“Let that burning feeling inside you free!” His fires exploded into being with a low roar. “For the sake of every Pokémon, I will not back down!”

Wartortle's voice joined the shout of defiance that rent the night. Energy surged through him, as if he held one of Victini's talismans in his hand once again. The gears of his mind whirred as he began to see the impending battle as a difficult challenge, not a hopeless tragedy. It was winnable, and he was going to help make that victory happen!

“Item-carriers, to the back! Defensive Pokémon to the front!” Wartortle shouted as he ran to Quil's side. The Resistance scrambled to obey. “Ground-types, you're on Team Zapdos! Rock and Water, Team Moltres! Fire and Steel, Team Articuno! Everyone else, even the teams out in numbers and items!”

Victini rose from Articuno's head. “You don't stand a chance, Brayden. Your pal's pretty words don't change the reality of the situation. I have this crazy Charizard who destroyed a town by himself. I have the three Legendary Birds. All of them are invested with my power. You can't stop me!”

Wartortle ignored him. “Spread out, like we talked about! Your roles, the strategy, it's all the same but now you're three teams with one opponent each! Don't worry about Victini or the Charizard for now!”

We're going to do great once we find Articuno.

The horizon to the east had begun to brighten. He could see the light through the swirling mists at the border of the plateau. Dawn was coming. Before it arrived, Wartortle would see the Resistance successful. The pressure exuding from the Legendary Birds was still present, but Wartortle found that now it was but a mild inconvenience.

We're going to make a difference.

“You'll lose, Brayden!” Victini squealed in his little voice, a voice that ground on Wartortle's nerves. His tone had changed. Now he sounded agitated. His form shimmered and began to disappear. Wartortle did nothing to interrupt the process; the Legendary Birds and Chando were a much greater threat at the moment.

I know it.

“Remember,” Wartortle called, “keep your distance! Use your longest range techniques if you have any! Keep the Legendaries spending their time turning around and moving!” The Resistance finished sorting themselves into three groups loosely spread around their side of the plateau. Wartortle backpedaled to the slightly higher ground that the ice near the bowl's edge offered him. He needed to be able to see all the impending battles simultaneously.

“Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres, Chando!” Victini screamed as he vanished. “End them!”

Let's do our best, as always.

“Go ahead and try,” Wartortle said under his breath, as his four opponents shrieked and roared their battle-cries.


	44. Boost

The arena exploded into motion. Moves that Wartortle had never seen or imagined were launched by the Pokémon of the Resistance at the trio of Legendary Birds. Green spikes. Beams of raw energy. Spores, powder. Purple wads of slime. Fire of various colors and shapes. Luminous rays. Distortions in the air like vibrations. Globules of light or water.

Fewer landed physical blows. Punches. Bites. Chops. Scratches. Stabs. Headbutts. Many had an element associated with them, as in the whip-like strikes of a vine, or the thwacks of Bein's bone.

The attacks of the three boosted elements were spectacular. Hayzin's electricity, as it jumped toward Moltres, threw a flash of shadows on the ice that even Moltres' innate glow had failed to produce. The gargantuan icicles that Beartic of the Twins produced above the head of Zapdos shattered into hundreds of tiny glistening shards as they crashed down on her. The vigorous explosions against Articuno's wing caused by Quil's deluge of white embers were no less incredible for all the times that Wartortle had seen Quil use the boosted technique.

The initial onslaught by the Resistance was devastating. It was breath-taking. A cacophony of visual and auditory noise that had Wartortle closing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands. Despite being the furthest Pokémon from the action, his body was assaulted by pulses of heat and cold from the use of Fire and Ice techniques. In that opening salvo, Wartortle fully believed that Pokémon could hear and see the battle all the way from Iyrodenin.

The Legendary Birds held their ground as they withstood it all. Then they retaliated.

Zapdos flung herself high into the air with a single wing-beat. On her next, a bolt of shining yellow lightning with a white core arced into the air and down to the icy bowl. A massive hole appeared in the battlefield as icy chunks were blasted away with a resounding thunderclap. Three Pokémon of the Resistance were also flung away, electricity jumping around on their fur and scales. Each of them landed hard on the ice, bouncing then rolling to a stop. None of them rose again.

Moltres raised her burning wings as if to enfold the Pokémon beneath her beak, and her wings' fires raged. The air in front of her warped and wavered from what could only be immense heat. A huge patch of ice five feet deep hissed as it sublimated directly into steam. The four Pokémon in Team Moltres caught in the technique crumpled. Only one of them got back up. The bodies of the three others rested in the wet pit.

Articuno, in the center of the bowl, drove herself back toward the ice bridge some thirty feet using a hard flap as thrust. She glided on her talons like an ice-skater. Her balance was flawless despite the sudden and speedy maneuver. She then flapped up a howling blizzard with but a few beats of her frosty wings. Snow-laden air rushed past a large portion of Team Articuno, coating their forms with frost. Most fell to their knees if they had them, and their sides if they didn't. The Resistance's Swalot stopped moving entirely as his purple body became encased in ice. He'd been frozen solid. Wartortle hastened to the side to avoid the blizzard, far away as he was.

Chando was making a pass over the entire plateau. He shouted nonsense in a voice that would be too loud for anyone to ignore.

“Your world denied my happiness! I shall reduce it to zero, to NOTHING!” He carved a straight line across the Resistance with white flames from his mouth. Due to his rambling, almost everyone was able to hear the attack coming and get out of the way, but one or two Pokémon were engulfed in the unimaginably hot fire. When Chando finished his pass, a deep fissure extended across the bowl. Wartortle could hear a moat of liquid water boiling at the bottom. “If I cannot feel joy, no one will!” Chando wailed.

“Team Moltres, watch out for the moat!” Wartortle called as loudly as he could to be heard over the battle. “Oran carriers, now would be a great time to use them!”

He flinched as a Prinplup slipped and fell backward into the fissure created by Chando. Most Pokémon present weren't used to hearing and obeying orders in battle, like Quil was. To them, doing anything but surrendering to one's fighting spirit in a battle was a foreign concept. It was fortunate that Wartortle had given everyone a role to ingrain into their heads before the chaos had begun. For the most part, the Resistance was sticking to the plan.

The four Pokémon chosen to carry Oran Berries rushed about the battlefield like medics, administering bites of the berries to any boosted Pokémon who were downed or critically weakened. In the time it took a Pokémon to use two attacks, most of the boosted Pokémon who had fallen were getting up, ready to keep fighting.

The furious battle was too chaotic, loud, and flashy for Wartortle to understand most of what was happening. He could only see bits and pieces. The Boldore named Gigor was tossed into one of the ice structures that resembled saplings by the hurricane winds summoned by Articuno. It shattered into a myriad pieces from the impact. Chando tucked his wings and descended on Bein's partner Choppa, slashing him with wicked claws. The Machoke dropped like a rock as Chando flapped effortlessly higher into the air.

Wartortle thirsted to charge into the fray, lending his own strength to the Resistance's efforts, but he recognized that he would be more helpful as a commander in this case. One more Pokémon among twenty-eight others, especially one not outstandingly potent in battle, would not tip the scales. If Water had been boosted, it would be a different story. Instead he put all of his efforts toward shouting orders and advice to the three teams. When he wasn't obeyed, he darted closer to ensure they heard him. Even then, oftentimes he was ineffectual. Yet he did see that the times his words were taken into account, the results ranged from somewhat to very beneficial. Even his repeated reminders to stay spread all around each of the Legendary Birds were proving to be very useful, as the Legendaries could often not bring their full force to bear on many Resistance members at once. They had to waste time turning around, and avoiding friendly fire.

A minute into the battle, Moltres took to the air proper, and made a pass around the rim of the icy bowl. Embers trailed her ever-burning wings as she circled. From her beak, white fire blasted holes through the mist to envelop Pokémon of the Resistance. Team Moltres responded with a barrage of ranged techniques that interfered with the flapping of her wings. She soon landed, but not before reaching out her talons toward the nearest mountainside as if to grab at the cold, rocky slope. It cracked and burst open. Jagged pieces of rock rose at her command. When she alighted on the plateau once more, the rocks followed, smashing into a few unlucky individuals in Team Moltres.

Articuno, much like Moltres had near the beginning of the battle, raised her frosty wings before Mahow the Drowzee. Mahow, whose trunk had been waving hypnotically but apparently uselessly at Articuno, abruptly shivered and dropped to the icy ground. Frost crystals formed on his skin.

The sheer cold she produced was the attack? thought Wartortle, disturbed. If we keep on like this, we won't last long. I need to stay positive; everyone, everything is riding on this battle. But facts are facts.

Already, half of the Resistance was down for the count. He scanned the remaining Pokémon for the chosen Oran carriers. Only three remained standing, and one of them was now empty-handed. While the Resistance had suffered heavy losses, the Legendary Birds finally looked like they were growing tired. However, everyone in the Resistance would have fainted by the time the Legendaries collapsed, at the current rate. Chando needed to be accounted for, too. Wartortle had not yet seen the Charizard take any hits, which was how he wanted it. What could be done about the fiery menace though? The Resistance needed to focus its efforts on the Legendary Birds, but that wasn't working fast enough.

Another minute, and the battle would be decided in favor of Victini's servants.

Don't give into despair. Quil's right: we're the Resistance. We don't submit. He raised his head to search for a certain Medicham. I wanted to wait longer for this, but we don't have time anymore.

As he looked around the chaos, he saw the first attempt at someone trying to pry a talisman away from one of the Legendary Birds. A Frogadier named Rook hopped up and gripped the base of Moltres' neck. Her thick tongue squeezed between Moltres' neck and the talisman's short cord. Moltres was not blind to the attempt to remove the source of her boosted power. Her neck began to arch, placing her beak above Rook's head. The Frogadier gave an admirable effort, her legs wobbling from strain as she pulled the talisman away from Moltres' neck. But the cord would not snap.

A stream of bright white flame bathed Rook where she struggled. Moltres returned her attention to the others pestering her, as Rook fell to the ground and curled in on herself with her eyes shut.

If the talismans even can be removed, thought Wartortle as he eyed the Frogadier with regret, we'll have to try once the trio has been greatly weakened. Otherwise they'll easily freeze, electrocute, burn, or smack away anyone who tries. He shouted a warning to the Resistance against trying to remove the talismans. Hopefully he would not have to witness another unnecessary loss in their losing fight. Finally, Wartortle located the Medicham he'd been searching for.

Luckily she was still tightly gripping the Sleep Seed that Wartortle had given her. He called out to the Psychic-type, telling her to use the item immediately instead of waiting. As Articuno sent a line of sharpened ice shards hurtling toward a pair of Steel-types harassing her from afar, Meddie leaped high and tossed the seed at Articuno's head. Like Totter Seeds, Sleep Seeds would supposedly release chemicals into the targeted Pokémon upon the rupture of the membrane, quickly resulting in a harmful condition. 

Articuno cut off her technique prematurely, letting the remainder of her ice shards drop to the ground and shatter. She whipped her wings at the seed, causing a gust of ordinary wind to send it hurtling through the mists and into darkness.

Wartortle grimaced as the seed was lost. It was a shame to see such a valuable item wasted, even if he remained skeptical of any seed's ability to affect a Legendary's constitution. Especially one who was not yet close to fainting. He'd seen how quickly Moltres had recovered from their battle on Iyrodenin. Why would a mere seed harm one of the Legendary Birds?

He blinked. Why would Articuno have taken the time to deflect the seed if it would have no effect? Surely at her age, with her accumulated wisdom, she would know of the strange seeds of Preserve Alpha. She would know whether or not they had any effect on her.

Wartortle once again took to scanning the battlefield for a certain Pokémon. Maybe the seeds would work!

The Totter Seed was in the paws of a Cinccino on Team Zapdos. If that seed was going to land successfully, Zapdos would need to be completely distracted. Wartortle ran to the rear of the team, keeping an eye on any incoming attacks.

“Team Zapdos, stop your attacks for ten seconds! Hold on!”

Most of them heeded his words, repositioning or catching their breath instead of attacking non-stop. Laying off the pressure would cost them, but the price would hopefully be worth it. As he had that thought, Zapdos elegantly flung herself into a beak-first corkscrewing motion just above the ground. Black and yellow alternately flashed as she spun, drilling her beak against a Sunflora. Zapdos settled back onto her talons, eyes darting to her next intended victim, as the Sunflora slid limply along the ice into one of the many crevices on the scarred battlefield.

“Chia,” he said to the Cinccino. “Get ready to throw it, on my go.” Then he raised his voice to all of Team Zapdos. “Everyone aim for Zapdos' face, attack now!”

In the confusion of noise, light, and motion from Team Zapdos' assault, Wartortle motioned for Chia to throw the Totter Seed. It was an excellent shot. Unnoticed in the chaos, the seed struck Zapdos' neck and broke open.

Zapdos's head twitched in response to the impact, but she was too preoccupied with the Resistance's attacks to focus on it. In the next few seconds, her eyes took on a feverish cast. Wartortle had once seen that look on someone very sick in bed. The look of someone seeing things that were not there. Hallucinations. Zapdos unleashed one more devastating bolt of thunder at Team Zapdos, forcing Wartortle to shield his eyes. Then, her head rolled wildly until she fixated on Articuno. Wartortle could see her eyes narrow knowingly.

Articuno was completely blindsided by the orb of crackling electrical energy that Zapdos flung at her. The Ice-type shrieked in surprise as white lightning danced on her form. Her neck straightened, her talons clenched, her wings went rigid. She keeled over.

Articuno had been Paralyzed.

“Now!” Wartortle shouted as he ran toward Team Articuno for them to better hear him. “Get that talisman! Pull on it, slash the cord, burn it off, whatever it takes!”

The few remaining members of Team Articuno swarmed over the downed Articuno. Wartortle saw a couple of them use their battling techniques on the small rock and its cord to no effect. Then by unspoken agreement, a variety of appendages reached in to grab at the talisman's cord. Pincers, teeth, claws, fingers, vines. There was not enough room around Articuno for everyone to help, so only Keng the Gengar, Kay the Togekiss, Piora the Pikachu, and Vin the Bulbasaur were able to take hold of the cord. Together, they heaved and strained to pull Victini's rock away from Articuno. The empowered cord resisted their efforts.

Wartortle stared intently at their progress, or lack thereof. If they could just get that talisman, perhaps the tables could be turned. But the cord wasn't snapping! He wanted to suggest some brilliant approach to removing the stone, but none came to mind. The cord was tied too tightly around Articuno's neck to be slid up off her head. If there was any knot on the back of her neck, he could not see it, and if they could have untied it they would have by now. He forced himself to look away, to find somewhere in the battle he could be helpful.

Moltres took one look at Zapdos and seemed to know immediately what was happening. The sight of Zapdos facing away from the Resistance and firing a bolt of electricity onto unoccupied ice probably clued Moltres in. She waded into the mass of Pokémon not part of the talisman removal effort and began knocking them away with calculated strikes of her wings. Moltres may have been typed as Flying and Fire, but the power of her own talisman granted her blows strength beyond any physical Fighting or Rock move. One by one, Pokémon were batted aside as Moltres tried to get a clear shot at the Pokémon standing over Articuno.

Wartortle gripped the ice beside Articuno and prepared to use his Water Gun to slow Moltres down, but somehow she'd already pushed through to him. She was seconds from reaching the Pokémon struggling to remove the talisman. Wartortle barely had time to Withdraw and brace against his shell before the incredible strength of Moltres' wing smashed him aside. After bouncing against the ice, he emerged somewhat dazed. Had he not had a shell to protect him from such attacks, he was certain he'd be unconscious like many of the others who'd been smacked away. He peered at Articuno, about forty feet away, as his vision stabilized.

Keng, Kay, and Vin were in a heap near Articuno. Moltres was staring at Piora, her beak parted. Two strings drooped from the Pikachu's hand. She looked down at it, her expression surprised, before a look of supreme confidence swept that surprise away.

In her palm was the talisman.

Moltres raised her wings and the ice in front of her became steam from the extreme, shimmering heat. But Piora was gone. She'd leaped high into the air. Already she was preparing some Electric technique in response, even as she fell back to the icy ground. 

White sparks spewed out of Piora's cheeks as she descended toward her opponent for a contact technique, but Moltres had thrown herself aside with a swift beat of her wings. Piora struck the ice with a fountaining of sparks and thunderous retort. A web of cracks appeared in the plateau around the Pikachu, and yellow light shined out of each of them as the electrical energy was discharged.

For a moment, Wartortle was mesmerized by what he was witnessing. A battle between two talisman-bearing Pokémon, with both of their elements already elevated to unnatural levels. He wondered if Moltres would prevail due to her status as a Legendary, or if that designation didn't even matter anymore. Judging by that last technique, Piora had already far surpassed Raizula's frightening capabilities. As Wartortle had been when he held a talisman, the Pikachu was currently a unique category of Pokémon, one that might be able to win against a talisman-boosted Moltres.

Wartortle again forced himself to look away, to focus on what needed to be done. He shouted at the remaining few Pokémon of Team Articuno, all of whom had been watching the battle between Piora and Moltres. “Team Articuno, knock out your namesake while she's still Paralyzed. Hopefully as the talisman's energy fades from her body, so will her defenses and endurance. Team Moltres, leave her to Piora; help Team Articuno!”

As most of them nodded eagerly, he glanced to a different part of the plateau to see how the battle fared between Zapdos and the Pokémon assigned to battle her. Only three of them remained standing. And Zapdos seemed once again in full control of her senses. None of the Pokémon still fighting in any of the teams were holding any items. The Blast Seeds and the rest of the Oran Berries must have been used without Wartortle's notice, or they'd never been used at all.

Wartortle scowled, his eyes roving the sea of Pokémon who were either unconscious or too weary to keep fighting. Wily the Mawile was among them. Either her Metal Burst hadn't worked, or she'd never gotten the chance to use it. All three Pokémon who had been picked to wear the enhancing bands were also among the defeated. Those certainly hadn't been able to grant the edge the Resistance needed, though they may have helped slightly. He couldn't see any berries or seeds among the fallen to retrieve and redistribute. Doing the same for the bands probably wasn't worth the time and effort, Wartortle figured. The battle was ending too quickly.

A glow swept over Team Zapdos. Wartortle looked up in time to see Chando loose a white-hot fireball toward the melee around Zapdos. As it met the plateau, it exploded, sending out a flood of flames that rolled outward across the ice like a tidal wave. Chando's placement of the fireball had been perfect. All three remaining Pokémon in Team Zapdos were engulfed. When the flames cleared, what remained was three unconscious Pokémon in a watery crater. Bein was among them. Team Zapdos was finished.

Chando's words were so deranged that Wartortle wondered if somehow the Charizard had also been struck by a Totter Seed. “The shadow in my heart, I feel it tearing through me! Battle is what it craves now, destruction! ALL WILL ENDURE MY PAIN!”

Chando needed to be dealt with, and fast. Yet the Legendary Birds remained the greatest threat. Articuno had at last been overwhelmed, and Moltres was still dueling Piora on the part of the plateau near the ice bridge. Wartortle jumped and waved his arms to grab attention as he shouted.

“Team Articuno, Team Moltres, your sole objective now is to take down Zapdos! Go!”

The remaining battle-ready Pokémon of the Resistance hurried toward Zapdos. Wartortle dashed forward to join them, hating the lingering weariness from the Moltres' blow against him. Of the twenty-nine Pokémon who had crossed onto the icy plateau, eight were left, and one of them was busy fighting Moltres. Wartortle, Quil, Viper, Keng, the Twins, and Vin the Bulbasaur were to take on Zapdos and Chando by themselves.

Seven against a somewhat weakened Zapdos, and an untouched Charizard? These are impossible odds.

Any semblance of formation was forgotten as the eight tried to find an empty spot to place themselves around Zapdos. The damage to the battlefield at that point from all of the spectacular attacks was staggering. Wartortle leaped across a thick crack, scrambled over a pile of ice chunks, then jumped another crack to land in a large puddle of ice-water. Dodging any of Zapdos' incoming attacks would be out of the question; the area was nearly unnavigable.

Wartortle was accordingly amazed when Quil navigated the battlefield with ease after turning himself into a wheel of white fire.

Like Cyndill the Quilava had done in Cavetown's diner against the Hariyama, Quil now threw himself forward using his front paws while exhaling flames onto the ice below his snout. He tucked his head and rolled along his back. The exhaled flames merged with Quil's fiery mohawk, then the spiky fires on his rear. Flame poured from Quil's mouth as he rolled along his spine again and again, gathering momentum. The flames coating his length grew larger, brighter, thicker.

Unlike Cyndill's, the Flame Wheel that Quil had become was a glorious white inferno. The bits of ice in Quil's path melted into water as he rolled toward them. A plume of steam was left in his wake as the ice and water he rolled over boiled away. Quil rolled right over the small gaps in his path, as if his form were now as weightless as a feather. He somehow jumped the larger gaps, gaining speed all the while. He was the first to reach Zapdos.

Zapdos' talons clenched furrows in the ground with icy popping sounds. Then she threw herself beak-first into a spinning blur of yellow and black to meet Quil head-on. 

Her beak pierced the continuous waterfall of Quil's boosted flames, digging into his body. Even as she did, however, the fires slammed down onto Zapdos, driving her hard into the ice. Quil was knocked clean out of the Flame Wheel by Zapdos' beak. He bumped and bounced, finally coming to a rest against Hayzin's limp body with a groan. His eyelids fluttered.

Six.

Wartortle fought to keep his rage in check. He was only partially successful as he snarled the words, “Take her!”

The assault on Zapdos began anew. Wartortle added his Water Gun to the mix, though his concentration was almost broken when his tongue tingled from the modicum of electricity that traveled from Zapdos' body to his mouth via the stream of water. It was almost broken again when Vin was plucked from the ground by Chando and carried high into the air. The Charizard's fangs had become long, wicked hooks of blazing fire. He plunged them into the Bulbasaur's bulb. Wartortle finally lost control of his flow as Vin screamed in pain while his vines waved uselessly. Chando dropped the smoking Bulbasaur back down to the ice, where he made a crunch.

Five.

Only five of them were left. Five Pokémon would decide the fate of the battle, and of every Pokémon counting on them. Everyone who had fallen thus far had done so to grant the others time to keep fighting. If they could not succeed, all was for naught.

Wartortle banished the encroaching thoughts of hopelessness and fear. The words of Quil's grand speech still resonated within him. For Quil's sake above all, he would not give up. Not now.

While he prepared his next move, Wartortle watched as Viper landed a beautiful slice of her poison-coated tail blade along Zapdos' back. The poison was bound to have no effect, but the damage would. The Twins attacked Zapdos from both sides. Beartic slashed with his great claws, and Sealeo slammed against Zapdos with the full brunt of his body. For once, Zapdos actually stumbled.

Keng the Gengar took a few running steps toward Zapdos with what room he had. His hand dipped down, as if to scoop ice from the moonshadow of one of the plateau's thick icicles that now lay on its side. When he straightened, he was holding what looked like a ball of congealed shadow, which he hurled at Zapdos. Even as it struck her bright plumage, she returned the favor with a bolt of almighty lightning. Keng's entire body turned yellow for an instant before he collapsed.

Four.

Wartortle used his Bubble, what he imagined would be the final move he would use this battle. Either Chando or Zapdos was bound to attack him in the next few seconds. He would have sighed in acceptance, if bubbles were not streaming from his mouth to burst against Zapdos' wing. He'd given it his all. No regret would touch him as he went down fighting.

Piora then seemed to appear next to Beartic of the Twins, so great was her speed. Wartortle's eyes flicked to where Moltres now lay motionless on the ice near the edge of the bowl, far behind the Beartic. His eyes flicked back to Piora.

Two talismans now rested in her hand.

The Beartic snatched one of them up with a fierce smile that quickly grew to a fearless grin. Even as Chando glided overhead, blasting Sealeo of the Twins to unconsciousness with a line of flames, Beartic fell to all fours and let out a majestic roar brimming with confident defiance.

A wall of icy wind blasted from his maw into Zapdos. Every inch of her that was facing the Beartic was instantly coated with chilling frost. Her beak, her breast, her wings, her talons. The force of the wind caught her wings and forcefully pulled them open like a sail in storm. Zapdos squawked her dismay as she was blown backward, her tail following her head. The breath from her beak condensed into thick vapor. The cold from the technique swept past Wartortle. He clenched his claws and narrowed his eyes, but refused to turn away from the triumphant sight.

At last, Zapdos came to rest among the mists near the bowl's western rim. The color of her feathers was completely obscured by the film of white frost now coating her entire body. One wing twitched feebly, but she did not make any move to stand.

Zapdos had been defeated.

Wartortle 's head jerk left, then right.

All of the Legendary Birds lay defeated. Only Chando remained. The Charizard flapped hard to turn himself around in the air above the distant eastern rim of the bowl. He glided toward the remaining combatants of the Resistance, yelling nonsense as a fire's glow lit his throat past his fangs.

Wartortle leaped into a run toward Zapdos' still form. Viper was just ahead of him. The same thought must have occurred to them both at the same time: the talisman! The battle was not over. While Zapdos had been nearing her limit when she'd been dealt the final blow, Chando was still perfectly healthy. And they were but four. The third talisman would be needed if the Resistance was going to defeat the calamity of Port Rein.

Viper hooked her bladed tail-tip between the cord and Zapdos' neck. Her whole body contorted as she strained to sever the cord. Wartortle gripped the cord with his claws, then threw caution to the wind and chomped down on it with savage intent. He added his pull to Viper's. The cord refused to snap. When Piora and Beartic came up beside them to lend their talisman-enhanced strength however, Wartortle felt the cord immediately give way.

He ended up on his belly, skidding along the ice next to Viper. When they came to rest, Wartortle saw the talisman resting on the ice right in front of his nose. The cord loop had been cut in half. One of the cord halves was pinned underneath the thinnest part of Viper's tail, near the blade. The other half was draped over top.

The flapping of Chando's wings grew loud in Wartortle's ears. The Charizard had almost arrived.

Wartortle immediately grabbed the two severed cord ends and retied the loop with his claw-tips around Viper's tail. He glanced at her face for a reaction to see if it had worked.

Oh, it had worked.

“Bring him down!” Wartortle yelled as Piora and Beartic rose to their feet nearby as well.

The Beartic squatted on his stocky legs, gathering power. Piora raised her head to the approaching Charizard with a glint of anticipation in her dark eyes. She, too, crouched low in preparation for a monumental leap. Viper hissed with pleasure as she coiled herself up.

As one, the Beartic, Pikachu, and Seviper fired themselves skyward. Fifty feet up in the air, the three talisman-bearing Pokémon converged on Chando.

The flames that Chando reflexively released as the three approached were cut short by the trio of tremendous blows dealt to his unprotected back from above. Viper's entire length uncoiled to whip around and slash across the skin between Chando's wings. Piora's Electric technique produced a flash of light that illuminated the clouds and sent thunder crashing against the bowl. And the claws adorning Beartic's heavy paw were a blur as he twisted sharply to rake them against Chando's back.

The Charizard rocketed downward and crashed into the ice. The three landed lightly beside him. Wartortle joined them as Chando struggled to rise, grumbling something about his joy being smothered by confinement.

When he finally regained his footing, the Charizard was greeted by Wartortle's Water Gun, another poisonous slice from Viper's tail, a ball of deafening white electricity from Piora, and Beartic's icicles crashing down on him from above.

This time when Chando struck the ice, he did not rise again.

Wartortle cut off his water's flow to survey the broken battlefield. Articuno was down. Zapdos was down. Moltres was down. Now Chando was down.

Was it...

Was it over?

Had the Resistance truly won?

The sudden stillness felt like a lie after he'd just partaken in the most dazzling and confusing battle he'd ever seen. His mind didn't know how to react to the lack of matters demanding his urgent attention. He felt like he needed to analyze, to move, to shout. But there was only quiet. The abrupt shift from insanity to peace was highly disconcerting. He took a slow, anchoring breath.

No.

No, it wasn't over. That much he knew right away. Bit by bit, he recalled the thoughts and plans he'd had before the battle. He recalled the strategies he'd made to counteract Articuno, and why removing the talisman of one of the Legendary Birds was necessary. Yet he also recalled why that was only a temporary fix. He recalled speaking to the Twins about some essential tactic. He recalled even further before that, the purpose in coming to Articuno's domain following a bluff he'd made. The reason the Legendary Birds needed to be confronted. The reason the Legendary Birds were important at all. The reason Wartortle was here. The reason Wartortle had become a Pokémon in the first place.

Victini.

It was all because of Victini.

He whirled on Beartic, shouting, “Hail! Use your Hail now! Now, now!”

Wartortle hopped from foot to foot as anxiety coursed through him. Say he wasn't too late! Say this entire struggle wasn't for nothing! The Beartic nodded and raised his arms above his head. With the Sealeo half of the Twins down for the count, Beartic would be alone in using his technique. Not as they'd planned. However, they also hadn't planned for the Beartic to be holding one of Victini's talismans. Hopefully the talisman would make up for the Sealeo's absence.

A pillar of cold rose from the Beartic to the light cloud cover drifting across the sky. Ice crystals floated upward in the nigh-invisible beam. The placid clouds darkened to gray and swelled in response. The skies above the plateau became a winter storm in miniature. Seconds later, a sprinkling of hail clattered against the ruined battlefield.

The Twins had said before the battle that the hail would not last long; Wartortle needed to be very fast. Every second counted. He raised his face to the sky and scanned the curtain of hail.

Victini's behavior matches my theory, just as I thought after leaving Iyrodenin. He never participates in any battling. He never uses any moves. All he's ever done is imbue the talismans with his power, and turned himself invisible.

The tiny balls of ice dropped straight through the sky, unhindered. Each followed a straight course from the clouds to the plateau. The hail was perfectly even as far as he could see.

I'm certain now it's because he's unwilling to engage in any fighting himself. Victini never accepted his Pokémon aspect as I did, because he despises the creatures. He's completely unwilling to utilize his new instincts or use his Legendary strength in battle.

Wartortle held up a hand to protect his eyes, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of the ice peppering his exposed skin. He turned a slow circle, his eyes jumping around to different sectors of the sky.

But whenever he can, he hovers nearby to gather intelligence. He stays close enough to the action to witness every detail, but far enough away to stay safe. Victini's cautious, through and through, but also completely unwilling to miss a thing.

Finally, Wartortle saw it. A break in the pattern. A small spot in the air where the hail did not fall perfectly straight downward. The hail in that place stopped, bouncing upward, then finished the journey to the icy plateau. The place where the hail bounced was not stationary, it was moving. Rising slowly in altitude, from twenty feet, to twenty-five feet, to thirty feet.

That's why I knew he'd be here now to witness the defeat of his pawns.

Wartortle dropped his gaze. Time was critical. All of their preparation and effort came down to these last few seconds. Victini could not be allowed to escape, and boost the Legendary Birds anew at some later time. He pressed his claws to his head, thinking faster than he'd ever thought in his life.

All the Flying-types were down. No move among Wartortle, Viper, Beartic, or Piora had a large enough range to reach Victini any longer. The only way to get to him would be to jump. Jump very, very high.

There was no time though. No time at all. Not even seconds to communicate to the Pokémon around him what was happening. Why he'd wanted the hail. To point out the discrepancy in the falling hail. What he wanted them to do. By the time one of the new talisman-bearers was set to jump, Victini would have escaped into the boundless sky.

Wartortle's eyes shifted around the bowl as his thoughts raced like they never had before. No items were remaining to use, nor would they be of service. The last talisman was still tied to the unconscious Chando's neck. He couldn't take the time to get it off.

Then his eyes fell on Quil. Quil, where he stood on all fours by Hayzin, not ten steps away from Wartortle. Conscious. The Quilava had been craning his head to watch the skies, but now his neck relaxed. His expression was surprised. He'd seen it. Quil had seen where Victini rose invisibly through the hail. Wartortle was sure of it.

Quil's eyes met Wartortle's as he looked down. Wartortle could not say how, but his gut knew that Quil understood. That Quil understood what Wartortle wanted.

Wartortle was out of options. Out of time. He was not convinced that this would work, but there was no time to hesitate. He dashed a few steps toward Quil and leaped into the air to descend onto Quil's back.

Quil bent his four limbs, placing his belly against the ground. Wartortle tracked the movement of the discrepancy as it rose higher into the sky. At least fifty feet now. Maybe sixty. Right before landing on Quil, his head snapped down as he gathered his focus to his bending legs.

Quil's own legs straightened with explosive speed. His back arched sharply.

Wartortle thrust downward against Quil's back. With all of his might, Wartortle jumped into the sky. Toward the gap in the hail. Toward Victini.

Their motions could not have been more perfectly in sync. The combined effect of their pushes actually caused Wartortle's legs to recede partway into his shell before popping back out. Never had he accelerated so quickly, moved so fast. Not even when he'd launched himself from Iyrodenin toward the airborne Moltres. He narrowed his eyes against the hail pelting his face as he soared upward toward the dark clouds. Each ball of ice seemed to glow from within due to the light of both celestial bodies. The full moon was setting behind Snowcap Crags, far to the west, as the glow of the coming sunrise in the east began to fill the world with light.

Wartortle plowed through the motes of light toward that sole blemish of untouched darkness. His aim had been true, but he felt his momentum running out.

Make it. Make it!

He reached out with one hand, opening it wide to enclose his claws on Victini's invisible form.

Victini yelped in surprise. The discrepancy stopped rising.

And Wartortle grabbed him.

Victini's body shimmered into being as Wartortle pulled him closer with both hands. The Legendary was not going to escape his grasp. Victini struggled, but Wartortle grimly held on. Gravity held on as well. Wartortle pulled Victini along with him as he began to descend head-first back to the plateau.

“No no no no, let me go, let me go!” Victini wailed as his small form writhed in Wartortle's grip.

Wartortle leaned his head back to look earthward. Quil, Piora, Beartic, and Viper all watched his swift descent. The luminescent hailstones appeared almost motionless as they rained down around him; he fell at a similar speed. He lowered his chin to look at Victini, whose eyes were squeezed close. Wartortle felt hatred mingled with disgust cross his features.

“I win,” he snarled into one of Victini's ears.

Then he jerked Victini below him, drew upon his Pool, and fired his Water Gun point-blank into Victini's chest.

Victini was blasted away from him, directly toward the ground. He smashed into the ice with a a loud CRACK despite his light weight. Bits of ice were flung away from the impact site. Cracks webbed outward.

The Water Gun slowed Wartortle, but not enough. Fast as he could, he pulled himself into his shell and braced for impact. He landed on something soft, bounced off, and struck ice. When he gingerly emerged, shaking his head clear of dizziness, he found himself standing in a small crater in the ice of the plateau.

Wartortle slumped to the ground, letting out a slow breath, as the four Pokémon around the rim of the crater cheered in exultation.

Victini, bane of the Resistance and author of all its sorrows, was sprawled unconscious at the center of the crater.


	45. Beginning

Quil lent a forepaw to hoist Wartortle out of the crater, though Quil was certainly even more worn out than him after being on the receiving end of Zapdos' beak. They exchanged a joyful look at the excellent results of their Springboard Boost combination, and Wartortle patted his friend on the back.

The hail had stopped. The clouds were back to their wispy consistency. The sky was growing lighter from the coming of the dawn, making the glows given off by Chando's and especially Moltres' fires less pronounced. As he watched, Moltres began to toss and turn. She was waking up very quickly after being defeated by Piora, which did not surprise Wartortle one bit. He'd seen her swift recovery time on Iyrodenin.

“We'd better keep them all unconscious until the rest of the Resistance is awake. We can decide what to do from here,” said Wartortle to Quil, Viper, Piora, and the nameless Beartic.

If any of them found his request strange or not-Pokémon, they did not show it. He joined them in spreading across the shattered battlefield to deliver additional attacks to Chando and the three Legendary Birds. It was grisly work, but necessary. Wartortle cut off his Water Gun against Moltres' face a few seconds after she'd stopped moving, just in case, and he encouraged the others to overdo it too. Then he repeated the process on Victini.

One by one, the members of the Resistance roused themselves and slowly made their way over to Quil and Wartortle. When Hayzin awoke, he had the smart idea to drag the bodies of their opponents together near the middle of the icy bowl so that everyone could keep an eye on them. Half an hour later, everyone in the Resistance was up, though Wartortle knew that every conscious Pokémon was feeling at least as tired and achy as he was. Except, perhaps, the talisman-bearers.

“What do we do with these?” growled Beartic of the Twins. He sounded reluctant to give up his talisman, and Wartortle could not blame him.

“Eh, feel free to hold onto them. They'll run out of power before too long, especially Zapdos' since she was the first to get one. Maybe we'll use them later to take care of any lingering issues from the time of the boosts.” He cocked his head. “The Boosted Era? That has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh, how about the Month of Power!” Quil chimed in.

Bein shook his head. “Been a bit more than a month since that first storm.”

“I'd say it's close enough, Bein,” said Hayzin, smiling, as one of his hooves idly brushed against the icy ground.

Quil was exhaling a flurry of embers into the air. Now they were paltry specimens, dull red motes compared to the vivacious white to which Wartortle had become accustomed.

The Quilava chuckled. “It was great while it lasted!”

The dawn broke as the embers dissipated. Orange light streamed over the edge of Articuno's ice bowl. The members of the Resistance gathered along the misty edge to bathe in the day's first rays. The first day without any boosted Types. The first day of normalcy.

Viper inched up beside Wartortle. “That was a bligging nice job you did, Wartortle. I guess your organization, and your tactics, and all that jimby-wimby is useful after all.”

Wartortle turned to her, unsure of what to say. She looked almost bashful, and began to inch away. “Thank you,” he said with a grateful smile.

She hissed, her tongue flicking out into the air briefly. Then, smiling, she gently shoved his shell with the flat of her bladed tail and looked to the sunrise once more.

Wartortle basked in the moment. With all of the Resistance by his side, the movement that he'd brought into being with Quil, he wondered if he'd ever seen a sunrise as beautiful as this one. At last there would be peace. The refugees could return home. The once-boosted bullies would receive their just desserts. Battles everywhere would be balanced once again in the natural order. The Resistance had fulfilled its purpose more completely than Wartortle had ever hoped.

It did not evade his notice that many of the Pokémon around him remained close to their team members. Team Articuno, Team Zapdos, and Team Moltres stuck together even now for the most part. The camaraderie of battle, it seemed, was a powerful force. They chatted about highlights in the dawn's light, laughing and joking about the details of the battle. Wartortle mentioned his observation to Quil, who stood on his hind legs on Wartortle's right.

The Quilava nodded. “Fighting in that battle as part of Team Articuno was really enjoyable, even if it was against a scary Legendary. Knowing that everyone around me felt the same way about the boosts, about the Resistance, knowing they were all fighting with me for the same reason...there's something special about that.”

Wartortle folded his arms. “The boosts might be gone, but we have some nice teamwork going. Maybe the Resistance could live on. We could keep Team Base running, keep that request board in use.” His gaze unfocused as he looked to the horizon. “A dedicated organization that helps Pokémon in need through the use of well-practiced and well-equipped teams. I could see it happening. Though we'll need a new name, I suppose.”

Quil smiled. “That's something I'd be interested in. Maybe Loria too, oh, and Viper. I bet lots of Resistance 'mon would join!”

The sun finally escaped the horizon. Wartortle glanced at the pile containing Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres, Chando, and Victini as Rook the Frogadier blasted the group with a pulse of water from her hands.

Time to figure out where to go from here, thought Wartortle. It doesn't much matter what happens to the Legendary Birds, so long as Victini and his power never see the light of day again. By his own admission back when he wasn't having one of his fits, Chando will have to be locked up again too.

A strange sound reached his ears. A thrumming in the air. One that he had not heard in a long time, and then only in films he'd seen as a human. The Pokémon around him by the edge of the bowl hurriedly backed away from the source of the unknown noise. It was coming from the air beyond the plateau, above the sea at the end of the peninsula.

Three large machines hovered toward the lip of the plateau. As he watched, they appeared to grow more solid as their visual cloaking technology was disengaged. They each resembled a hybrid of a helicopter and a dropship made for transporting personnel in military operations. Each had a glossy black exterior, with multiple sets of whirling rotor blades that produced that steady thrum. The vessels were equipped with six-barreled machine guns that were pointed at the Pokémon of the Resistance.

Wartortle found himself questioning the decision for the aircraft to be equipped with guns. Pokémon constitutions can rapidly heal through being roasted, electrocuted, frozen, cut, poisoned, and a million other forms of harm that would kill a human. We can certainly deal with the impacts of high-energy ballistics from those guns. Especially Legendary Pokémon. Though, I suppose they'd certainly serve as useful noisemakers to deter Pokémon who have never seen them before.

The human aircraft did not belong here. Seeing the machines in such a setting felt profoundly wrong. Why were humans here? Why now? Were they friend or foe? He backed up with the rest of the Pokémon toward the center of the plateau as the three black ships landed near the edge. The wind they generated rippled against the morning mist, dispersing it.

The Resistance was puzzled, frightened. He could sense it, just as he could sense his own instincts to unleash his battling techniques against the threat. He knew he'd better say something to them. He was the only one who knew what the machines were.

“Don't attack!” He raised his arms to them in a pacifying gesture. “Please stay calm everyone. Just keep the Charizard and the Legendaries subdued back there, and I'll do the talking.”

The rear doors of each ship swung downward to become ramps. Human men and women in uniformed military combat garb filed out, each holding rifles, though Wartortle also spotted the red and white of Poké Balls on some of their belts for easy access. The humans spread along the rim with practiced movements, keeping their barrels trained on the Resistance.

Rigorous discipline. This must be an elite strike force of some kind. Perhaps the famous Unova Delta Operations. But for what purpose?

A tense moment passed before the man in the center, apparently the leader, raised a hand and made a curt gesture. Though the woman that emerged from the center aircraft was obviously out of her element, wearing armor and walking with cautious steps, Wartortle would have known that face anywhere. That wavy brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders. That thoughtful cast to her brow.

It was Kathleen, from his lab. Sweet, sensitive, but highly focused and critical when immersed in her work. She'd been on Wartortle's consciousness research team since its inception. Other than Tristan, she was the one who knew the most about the project. Suddenly the reason for her presence here became evident. She knew all about him and Tristan, and probably what had brought them to Preserve Alpha. Any human expedition would want to bring her along.

Wartortle smiled at seeing a familiar face after so long. He stepped away from the bulk of the Resistance. The military man who'd done the gesture was saying something to Kathleen, but Wartortle didn't understand. It must have been some code for use in their operation. Kathleen responded in kind, her hair glistening in the light as she shook her head.

“Kathleen, it's me, Brayden!” he called out to her. With a frown, she advanced to speaking distance with two armed personnel flanking her. She spoke a short sentence in the voice that Wartortle could recall so well, but he didn't understand the words. Still, their rhythm sounded familiar. Like a foreign language he'd once learned, but had not heard spoken in many years. He mirrored her frown as the words continue to ring in his mind. His eyes widened as the meaning of Kathleen's words clicked. He could understand them! They were his language!

“This Wartortle must be some sort of leader,” Kathleen had said.

Wartortle started to respond, but his words were different than hers. They were not in the language that Wartortle had grown up speaking. They were not Kathleen's language. His mind raced with the revelation. All this time, he hadn't been speaking a human language. Ever since he'd woken up as a Squirtle and talked with a Pokémon for the first time, Quil, he'd been speaking a different language. The language of Pokémon, apparently. The transferal of his consciousness into the brain of a Squirtle must have allowed him to comprehend Pokémon and communicate as they did. He recalled his most vivid memories of Pokémon vocalizations as a human, how they'd been bestial, crude noises. Now his brain perceived those noises with meaning attached.

Wartortle shook his head in wonder. So perfect had his acquisition of Pokémon language been, that he'd never once noticed that the sounds his throat and lips had been forming all this time had not correlated with the words of his original, human language. Looking back, he realized he'd been making the same sort of vocalizations that Pokémon made when they cheered, yelled, or made other wordless noises. Perhaps his initial disorientation and shock on that first day had helped to mask the strangeness of hearing and speaking words of the language that all Pokémon shared. After all, he'd woken up in an unknown forest in the middle of a storm to see a talking Cyndaquil. It had been a lot to take in. Still, he marveled that he'd never noticed the switch in languages after all this time. It had felt so natural. He could add language acquisition onto the many uses of the brainstate transferal process.

He tried again to speak to Kathleen, this time with a conscious effort to make his mouth form the words of the language that she would understand. It was remarkably difficult. His mouth was not made to form the sounds of any human language. He thoroughly mangled them. His form was much better suited to snarls, gurgles, and other guttural noises. With great effort, he managed to say, “Understand me?”

She drew back in shock, a hand flying to her lips. The man and woman carrying rifles on either side looked at each other. “You speak our language!” Kathleen said.

“I'm Brayden,” he forced his unruly mouth to pronounce, in order to clarify.

“Oh my gosh!” She took another step back. “Brayden! It's you! I can't believe it. You're a Wartortle now; you must have evolved! How did it feel? Who are all those Pokémon behind you? How did you learn to communicate with them? Oh, forget that, how are you doing? How has it been, living as a Pokémon? Did the transferal go well?”

Wartortle grinned, saying nothing. Sometimes when Kathleen grew excited, she gushed whatever was on her mind. Kathleen must have recognized his expression, even on a Wartortle, as she pinched her nose with a smile of her own.

“It's alright,” she said to the lead military man behind her. “This Wartortle is Brayden. It's safe to say we can relax, I think. I'll get to the bottom of what's been going on.”

“Understood, doctor,” the man said. “Team, stand down.”

Wartortle could tell by the blank expressions on the Pokémon behind him that they had no idea what was happening. They'd never seen humans before. He raised his voice to them, switching languages with only minor difficulty.

“This is an old friend of mine. We're going to talk for a little bit.” What were they going to make of that? He felt as if he were being selfish, but what else could he do at the moment? “Er, sorry for the wait.”

“Why are you here?” Wartortle asked Kathleen. “Why is humanity only arriving now?”

Kathleen's expression softened. “Sorry. We came here specifically because the ship's sensors indicated absolutely massive energy spikes here a few minutes ago. We thought it was a good place to start our search. We lifted off about forty minutes ago, when the fluctuations in the current and voltage outputs of Electric-type Pokémon suddenly stabilized.”

That's when we defeated Zapdos and took her talisman, Wartortle thought.

“Remember how all of our electrical systems started to go on the fritz, right as we initiated your brainstate transferal on that morning? Tristan's first act must have been to do something to Electric Pokémon. Our operating hypothesis, based on the word of historians and Pokéscience experts in Castelia, is that Zapdos is involved. Though that sounds far-fetched, huh?” She shook her head. “I guess that's what we get for having so much of our technology reliant on, and calibrated to, the normal output of Electric Pokémon in power plants. We never worried about what would happen if all of their outputs suddenly increased.”

Even Victini going for Zapdos first was calculated. He wanted to crush any fast-response resistance from humanity by tampering with one of the foundations of almost all modern technology. Electricity. While Kathleen's words answered some questions, they raised others. What she said about problems with the lab's electrical systems did not match Victini's story. And she talked as if Wartortle's memory was intact. Another disconnect. His mood darkened.

I was right. Victini was lying to me.

“Kathleen, I lost almost all of my memories of the incident at the lab, as well as the events leading up to it. Could you please explain from the beginning what happened?”

Her look of sorrow transformed into one of regret. “So the brainstate transferal was affected by the electrical energy fluctuations. We all thought the process was completed without a hitch, other than the Squirtle mistake. I'm so sorry, Brayden.” She reached out as if to give his head a rub, but he raised a hand.

“Please,” he said. “From the beginning. Tell me what happened.” Kathleen sighed and related a tale that was similar to Victini's version in some details, but completely different in others.

The research had indeed been about transferring brainstates between bodies. The project had indeed had a breakthrough overnight. However, Brayden had arrived on site early in the morning with Kathleen and many other lab personnel. They had soon been joined by government officials, and then military forces. The transferal machinery's logs indicated that Tristan had already used it many hours previously in order to perform an unauthorized transfer of his consciousness into the body of the Legendary Victini. This was an unprecedented threat to society. A human in the body of a Legendary, vanished to parts unknown? What was going to happen?

The government had wanted to dispatch elite military forces to take Tristan down, but no one had known where he went. They'd eventually managed to track a Victini heading for Preserve Alpha, but electricity had gone haywire shortly thereafter. Just as the forces were mobilizing, the change in Electric-type Pokémon stopped everything, preventing any military response. It had been chaos. Most technology wouldn't work correctly.

Meanwhile, the personnel in the lab had been convening in secret. They'd decided that the best option was to fight fire with fire. To get someone to the reserve quickly who could fit in, gather information, and beat Tristan at his own game. Tristan might have been enacting a catastrophic plan even as they spoke. Who knew what damage Tristan could do with Victini's abilities? Speed was of the essence.

They had gone to the transferal machinery, and had been surprised to find that Tristan had deliberately changed the passwords and hastily reprogrammed the software to slow them down. Finally, they'd calibrated and fixed up the machinery as best they could, given the malfunctioning electrical systems, and prepared to send someone's brainstate into a Mewtwo. They had chosen Mewtwo because of the artificial species' mobility and power. They had figured that the subject would have a good chance of finding and capturing Tristan as a Mewtwo.

Brayden had been the one to volunteer for the risky venture. Apparently, he'd seen it as his responsibility as the other co-lead. He hadn't wanted anyone else to take the risk on his behalf. Plus, he'd argued that he knew better than anyone else how Tristan thought, so he'd have a good chance of predicting him.

Brayden, Kathleen, and the others involved in the brainstate project had worked in tandem with a bio lab to prepare an empty Mewtwo shell to place on Preserve Alpha. But after initiating the process, they'd found that a critical malfunction had occurred. That had been around the time that the power grid had gone crazy. The hardware in one of the machines involved had defaulted thanks to the electrical fluctuations. The default selection was Squirtle, a model organism among Pokémon that was often used in all sorts of studies due to how well science understood the species. Instead of a Mewtwo, Brayden had been transferred into an empty Squirtle body. Everyone in the lab had been filled with bitter guilt at the error, but there had been no immediate way to take it back. To reverse the mistake.

After that last transfer, the machine had been put off-limits. It had been impossible to tell if using it would have more disastrous results, causing more harm than good. Ever since that dreadful day, the team had instead tried to save face by providing information to the military and government about Tristan in order to build a profile. They'd wanted to know why he had become a Victini, and what he was trying to accomplish.

Sending humanity to Preserve Alpha had remained very difficult thanks to the electricity problem. The changes that had eventually come to Ice-type and Fire-type Pokémon had only exacerbated the chaos in Castelia City. Despite the island's very large distance from the mainland, an expedition of Water-type Pokémon pulling primitive boats had been sent out a couple of weeks prior. Once Electric-type Pokémon had abruptly returned to normal just before the dawn, Kathleen and a team standing by from Unova Delta Operations had been sent by aircraft, arriving first. She'd been sent due to her being the person who knew the most about both Tristan and Brayden. Her accomplishments and accolades in science had made her a decent choice for determining the cause of the shift in the elements, as well.

“Now, here we are,” Kathleen finished. She appeared rather perplexed by his grin. “Does that explain it all, Brayden?”

Wartortle nodded twice. “Yes, thank you very much. I think I can answer all of your questions, too, but please give me a minute to let this sink in.”

Internally, he was squealing in delight. Victini's story had been deceitful in a specific way. It seemed to Wartortle that had been built from the ground up to paint a picture of Wartortle as a selfish, arrogant, careless, and downright evil man. While Victini had been careful to ascertain what Wartortle already knew before making up the story, the fictitious elements were cruel in how misleading they were. It was no wonder Wartortle had been hating himself. That he'd been on a quest for atonement. Those feelings arose from lies concocted by Victini, Wartortle realized, probably for the express purpose of undermining Wartortle' confidence. To prevent him from stopping Victini.

I can't wait to tell Quil! he thought with glee. I was never selfish or arrogant like Victini said. I never agreed to that ridiculous, horrifying bet. Quil's going to be so happy to hear it was all a big lie!

Kathleen's account of events explained the holes in Wartortle's understanding that remained after Victini's deception had been cast away. The reason he'd lost his memory was not because he'd chosen to remove it, but because of the Electric boost. The impact of changing currents and voltages on on the brainstate transferal machinery had resulted in a flawed transferal. His memories had been scattered, necessitating Ralia the Gardevoir's assistance to repair them. Even so, many of his memories had been lost forever in the transferal thanks to the boost. Wartortle guessed that the only pieces of his brainstate that had successfully made it intact to the Squirtle body were his old habits and muscle memory, his strongest personality traits, and scattered context-less memories. Only the most deep-seated pieces. Because Tristan had undergone his own transferal before causing the boost, his transferal had been perfect.

He'd become a Squirtle not because of a desire to disadvantage himself, but again, because of fluctuations in Electric Pokémon outputs at the power plants that powered Castelia City. Wartortle did not blame anyone; the lab staff had been unlucky with timing. Even if the boost had occurred a few minutes earlier than the moment of transfer, the emergency adjustments that would have needed to be performed would have been hastily done. The whole idea of the second transferal had been to immediately get him on Victini's trail. Time had been a precious commodity.

Wartortle had arrived on Preserve Alpha well after Victini not because he'd smugly given his fellow project co-lead a head start, but because Victini had lied about the timing of the events surrounding the breakthrough. Tristan had become Victini sometime in the night before the rest of the lab personnel had arrived on site. Brayden had become a Squirtle sometime around noon the next day. That matched up with his memories of the stormy skies outside of Root Forest. He'd judged the time to be around noon or early afternoon by the amount of illumination through the thick clouds.

Finally, every puzzle had been solved. Every question answered. There were no more loose ends. From beginning to end, it all made sense. Wartortle was content.

“Alright,” he said to Kathleen. “Let me fill you in on what happened here on this big island.”

And he told her. It felt strange, being the one to provide all the answers for once. To give someone the missing pieces of information that would repair their own worldview to wholeness once again. Making his Wartortle body form human words was difficult, but he improved with time. He told her the timing and circumstances of how he'd awoken in Root Forest. He told her a bit about traveling with Quil, not knowing his role in the Electric boost. He talked briefly about the humble origins of the Resistance, and of regaining some of his memories from Ralia. Then he told how he'd split from the Resistance to find Moltres. He shared the gist of the lies that Victini had told on the slopes of Iyrodenin. Lastly, he told her how Victini had outsmarted him, how he'd brought Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres, and Chando together to fight the Resistance on the plateau on which they both now stood. Kathleen's reaction to the various segments of his narrative ranged from disbelief to joy, from anger to anguish.

“So their hypothesis was correct,” she said after absorbing the information. “The energy in Victini's body, indirectly infused into the three Legendary Birds, is what caused the 'boosts' as you call them. Fascinating. I truly cannot believe you accomplished all of this, Brayden. Despite all your troubles and setbacks, even from the moment of transferal, your decision to come here as a Pokémon to chase Tristan paid off in full. These aircraft, of course, wouldn't have been able to come here unless you'd separated that 'talisman' from Zapdos.” She blinked. “Wait. That must mean the Legendary Birds are here. Tristan is here!”

Wartortle hesitated, then nodded. This whole disaster was a human problem. To humans, Victini would be returned, so that he could never bring about such a calamity ever again. He turned from Kathleen to the Pokémon of the Resistance. They were talking amongst themselves, being unable to follow the conversation between Wartortle and Kathleen.

He strode through the crowd to where their defeated foes rested, still senseless. Kathleen followed with obvious trepidation, but Wartortle's body language had made it clear to the Resistance that she was not an enemy. The man at Kathleen's side grabbed Victini and began carrying him back to the ships. The Legendary's body looked tiny and harmless in the arms of the six-foot-something man.

Slipping back into the comfortable language of Pokémon, Wartortle addressed the Resistance. “Thank you all for being patient. I'll explain in full later, but these are humans. They are a kind of creature that is not a Pokémon. Victini has...Victini will under be the care of humanity. I apologize, but I have to explain later.”

He could not begin to relate why Victini needed to be taken to those ships until the Resistance understood what humanity was. And that would take a long time. Time during which Kathleen and the strike team would likely not be content to wait around. He gave the faces around him an apologetic look as they began talking about the new development, before hastening to catch up to Kathleen and the other humans near the three black ships. Kathleen wore a look of wonder, no doubt not only from finding Victini at last, but at seeing the three Legendary Birds. Gracelessly unconscious though they were.

He approached close to the ships in order to watch as Victini was secured in some kind of high-tech prison cube. It was secured by mechanical and electronic locking devices. The metal cube looked like it weighed about a ton, so Wartortle breathed easily knowing that the Legendary was not going to escape. His invisibility would not help him when he came to. A question formed in Wartortle's mind as his eyes wandered the impressive metal hulls of the ships.

“Kathleen, if the boosts caused such a crisis even on the mainland, why isn't there a vast military presence arriving here to swarm over the island and find Victini? Why only three ships, and why the fancy cloaking technology?”

Kathleen turned away from her discussion with the leader of the strike team to address his question. “You recall that Preserve Alpha is the purest and most protected Pokémon reserve in the world, right? Well, we were only allowed to bring a small team so that we wouldn't cause a big scene. That's also why we had to cloak on the approach. You and your...Resistance, should be the only Pokémon on the reserve who have seen humans or our technology. We've bent enough laws to even set foot on this island, and only because of Tristan's presence here.”

“I see.” He cracked a humorous smile. “Our lab excels at pushing the limits in all the wrong ways, doesn't it?”

She returned it, but with a wistful tinge. “Yes. We should really be going, then. Technically our team's mission was to covertly locate and secure Tristan with all possible haste. Those are our orders. I'll probably be murdered by all the officials during the debriefing for spending so much time here.” She laughed. “Despite not really doing anything, I'd still consider this a 'Mission Success'!” She laughed again and Wartortle joined her. The members of the strike team began filing back into the aircraft.

“Ready to go?” she asked, looking down at him.

Wartortle's smile slowly faded.

“What?”

Kathleen's brow wrinkled in thought as she studied his reaction. “Did you expect to stay here, Brayden? This is very, very strictly, a No Humans reserve. Are you ready to go, or did you want to say goodbye?”


	46. End

Alone near an edge of the icy plateau, away from both the Resistance and Kathleen, Wartortle paced furiously back and forth. His mind was aflame. Fire coursed through his arms and legs, into his face. He was sorely tempted to vent his frustration to the heavens in a soul-numbing yell. To drain himself of his anger and bitterness with a scream. As it was, he paced with his claws clenched into fists.

He was required to leave. Humanity would never allow a human, even in a Pokémon body, to remain on the island. Preserve Alpha had been given its name for a reason. Among all natural reserves in the world, it was the largest and purest. Wartortle was to return to his home of Castelia City and become human again.

He'd never stopped to consider if humans would come to the island. Never thought about what would happen after the boosts were ended and Victini captured. Or what would become of Wartortle after his role in the disaster had been fulfilled. That distant, unknown future had never been his focus.

Now that it had arrived, he saw that he couldn't stay. He'd already poisoned the island with his humanity. Making a bank, outfitting teams with supplies and gear, introducing complex strategies to battles. He'd given birth to an entire organization of Pokémon behaving in ways that were not entirely natural for them. Granted, Quil had done just as much to see it grow, but Wartortle had ensured it operated according to his human vision. If Wartortle stayed, he wouldn't be able to sit back, keep his mouth shut, and enjoy the primal culture and practices of Pokémon on the island. He could not change who he was. He'd always be tempted to raise ideas and make inventions that had taken humans centuries of progress to create.

No, Wartortle had to go back to where he belonged. Back to his lab, his science. His calling. With Victini bound for a lifetime of imprisonment, the team would need him more than ever. And, he realized, part of him was eager to refine the brainstate transferal process further using his first-hand experience. His research was what he was meant to do. It was what his whole life had been building toward, before that fateful morning had interrupted everything.

Besides, he could probably do more to ensure a long and pristine future for Preserve Alpha as a human in Castelia than as a Pokémon on the island. He was now one of two individuals in the history of the world to have experienced life as both a human and a Pokémon. That unique perspective might grant him some sway when he spoke out against urbanization and human occupation of the island. The moment was sure to come. Victini's words about overpopulation had been no lie; their brainstate transferal technology had changed the world forever. Whether in a month, a year, or a decade, there would come a time when the island's status as a reserve would be under attack. Wartortle planned on being there when it did.

Despite all those logical and compelling reasons, and despite knowing that the human world was where he belonged, Wartortle did not want to leave. His insides burned with the injustice of it all. He'd been given no choice in the matter. He was being forced to go, after he'd devoted his life as a Pokémon to the inhabitants of the island. After he'd become a leader in a crusade of Pokémon. After his essential contribution in earning the Resistance, no, the world, a victory against all odds. Even after all of that, after all he'd done, this was his reward?!

It was backward! It was wrong! He had succeeded. Everything had turned out alright in the end. Why did he have to leave now? It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

He broke from his pacing pattern to step behind the remains of one of the pale blue icicles that had been pointing to the clouds before the Resistance's arrival on the plateau. Now, it was a line of icy fragments piled ten feet high. Thus hidden from view, Wartortle finally allowed himself to slam the ground with his fists. He blasted water over the edge of the plateau and watched it splash against rock far below. He wanted to bite something, something that would snap or break, but everything in sight was solid ice.

A few moments later, he fell to his belly, panting. It had felt good, to blow all of the energy of his outrage. Feeling spent, he rested himself. Darker thoughts set in. He'd never had the opportunity to see all the beautiful sights the island had to offer. To visit its gorgeous locales. To see the ingenious ways that Pokémon had adapted to their environment, like in Swanna's lodge and Cavetown's glowing caverns. He'd never attained the mastery of water that Zell had displayed, commanding his element through incredible battling techniques as easily as he wiggled his claws. Now, he never would.

Wartortle sighed a deep breath out of his nostrils as he rested his chin on the ice. He'd be leaving everything he'd begun to build. All the beginnings that would have wonderful futures. All the Pokémon he'd met. The Pokémon that he'd never had the chance to really get to know, to battle alongside and improve together. To call friends. Hayzin. Viper. He could see her head bobbing with enthusiasm before his eyes. Bein, to whom he owed so much. He'd have loved to meet Keel the Marshtomp again and share a friendly battle with him. Peroo, his voice so free and full of life. Loria.

Quil. Wartortle's steady breathing faltered. He closed his eyes and forced himself to take another deep breath.

Maybe he wouldn't have to leave forever? Maybe he could visit? But no, they would never let him. He'd never be able to return, neither as human nor Pokémon. After this incident, the security and protection of Preserve Alpha would be absolute. As he cast his gaze across the vast sea, he searched for some way to prevent his departure from being permanent. Yet there was no hope that he could see. This would be a one-way trip.

He pushed himself to his feet. Now that the last moments of his time on Preserve Alpha were here, Wartortle found himself clinging to every detail. The sights of the beautiful vista before his eyes. The murmurs and conversations of the Resistance beyond the other side of the ice chunks, their voices diverse in a way to which humans could not hope to compare. The feeling of his tail covered in fur, and the sense of safety his heavy shell provided. Kathleen and the others were waiting for him. His time on the island was running out. His new life was coming to an end.

“Wartortle? What are you doing over here?”

He did not turn to look as Quil joined him at the lip of the plateau behind the shattered icicle. When Wartortle looked down at his feet, he could see the ice sparkle with Quil's fires. He didn't answer. He didn't dare to speak. That would be progressing the moment, rushing it along. He wanted it to last.

“What did that human say? What's going on?” came Quil's voice with a concerned and uncertain tone.

“Turns out Victini was lying,” Wartortle said softly. “There was no bet. He came here by himself, and I volunteered later to stop him. And I didn't choose Squirtle or give up my memories out of arrogance, those were accidents.”

“That's great to hear Wartortle. Really, it is. You didn't have to 'atone' or be so hard on yourself after all. But what's wrong? Why aren't you happy about that?”

“It's always been strange for me. Having this dual nature. I feel it more than ever now, with humans standing on one side and Pokémon on the other. I don't think I ever told you, but I always looked at it as having two lives. My old life, and my new life.” He glanced back out to the sea. “Part of me is excited to return to my work, to do what I was born to do. But part of me hates that I have to leave all these great Pokémon. We've become so much more than a force resisting boosted Electric-types that abuse their power. I hate that I have to leave that when we were only getting started.”

A few seconds of silence passed before Quil said, “I don't think I understand. I must have misheard you. What...what are you saying?”

Wartortle finally turned to look at his friend. “Quil, they gave me time to say goodbye. But...I have to go. I have to go back to Castelia City. Forever.”

The vibration of Quil's fires stuttered for a moment. His mouth was open, but it was a few seconds before he managed to speak. “You...you're going away? You're leaving?”

Wartortle said nothing. He tried to ingrain the image in his mind. Quil, standing there on his hind legs, face frozen in shock, the dawn's light shining on his two-toned fur. This would be the last time he saw that expression on Quil's face. It would be the last time he spoke with Quil for the rest of his life. With his departure coming so quickly, every instant was a hundred times more significant.

“I don't get it,” said Quil in a low voice that grew in urgency. “I don't see why you have to go. Stay here with the Resistance, Wartortle. Don't go with the humans. Don't go in those big, black...things where they took Victini.”

“I don't have a choice, Quil,” he said slowly, gently, trying to make Quil understand. “I can't stay. Humans were never supposed to be here to begin with. I have to go back to where I belong.”

“No,” said Quil. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You can stay, you can stay! We can make it work. You can think of a way, can't you? You always have, you've always figured out some strategy to win!”

Wartortle looked down. “Not this time, Quil.”

One of Quil's feet began to scratch at the ice. “I don't...I just don't get it. We won, we finally won. I want to show you Steady Steppe, where I grew up. I want to travel and do more great things with you. I want us to reach our final evolutions together. Don't you? Didn't we...aren't we friends?”

Wartortle winced at the note of betrayal in Quil's voice. In that moment, he wanted so badly to say that he could stay. He dearly wished there was some other way, any other way for things to end. But there was not. This was the last conversation he would ever have with Quil. This was his last moment on the island.

“Of course we're friends, Quil. You'll always be my friend. Even though we don't get to be partners anymore, I'll treasure the great things we did accomplish, and the wonderful experiences we did share.”

“No!” Quil cried. His voice was no longer quiet and restrained. “You can't leave! Wartortle, what am I going to do without you? I can't...”

Wartortle tried to speak more words of reassurance, but Quil cut him off. “I only made it this far because of you, Wartortle. Can't you see? You made me strong. It was because of you that I had the courage to jump from that pier in Karprest. You convinced me my Ember wasn't awful. You encouraged me to speak in front of the crowd in Cavetown for the first time. You helped me get over my fear of water. You were always there, Wartortle. You were always there! If you leave, I don't know what I'd do!”

“You have to be strong on your own now,” Wartortle said. He stared at his feet. His voice shook. He'd wanted to put on a strong face for Quil, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. “You're going to do great.”

“Wartortle, I care about you.” Wartortle looked up. Quil's ruby-colored eyes shone in the light. His mouth was a quivering frown. “More than anyone else. Don't go back to your old life. I'm not ready for you to go. I'm not ready to watch you leave. I don't want this to end. I want to stay longer with my best friend.”

Wartortle clenched his claws and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt them begin to burn. “I know, Quil. I want to stay too. I wish there was some way, but there isn't.”

“Take me with you!” Quil blurted, and for one shining moment, his face was joyful once again.

Wartortle shook his head. “This is a one-way trip, and you don't belong over there. I'm going to be a human working in a lab, Quil. You have your family here. You have the Resistance. They're going to need their fearless founder to lead them into a new era. You have your world, and I have mine. It has to be this way.”

Wartortle heard Kathleen's voice call out from the ships, “Brayden!” He peered around the edge of the crumbled ice chunks to see her waving for him to hurry. Next to her, the leader of the strike team fixed him with an intense and clearly impatient look.

Wartortle nodded and turned back to Quil, only to feel the Quilava embrace him. His friend's tight grip around his shell was incredibly warm. Wartortle shouldn't have been surprised, since Quil was a Fire-type, but it felt like he was hugging the warmth of the sun in Pokémon form.

Quil's body was racked with sobs, now. Shaking, he pulled Wartortle close. Wartortle knew he should resist, and go to the ships, but inevitability could wait this last minute for him and Quil. He relaxed into the hug, returning it as strongly as Quil.

“I don't want to say goodbye, Wartortle,” said Quil around his small cries. “There has to be something we can do to keep you here. It wasn't supposed to end like this.”

Wartortle thought back to all the moments they'd shared. He recalled their first meeting, when Quil had set him spinning helplessly on his shell. He recalled their first awkward and pathetic battle, with the weak, non-elemental moves they'd used. Their time hiking and battling together, growing side by side. Their shared fear of walking through Weird Woods for the first time with Bein. The wonder at seeing Moltres and Victini atop Iyrodenin. Quil's many shows of friendship and compassion in their all-too-short time together. The moment in Blind Prairie when they'd taken it upon themselves to change the world for the better by stopping Pokémon like Stolt and Raizula. The pure joy of celebrating in Blindhollow after defeating the Raichu.

He smiled as the first tear rolled down his cheek when he remembered little Quil the Cyndaquil's terror at public speaking. Yet that morning, with that glorious speech, Quil could have inspired even a lifeless rock to fight with the Resistance.

My invaluable time with Quil, time I wouldn't trade for anything...

It ends now.

“I really, really want to stay with you Quil. But we're out of time.” He pulled away from Quil, putting him at arm's length. Quil's tears had already left dark stains in the short fur of his face, and they were growing damper by the second. His flames were larger and quivering faster than Wartortle had ever seen. His hind legs quaked beneath him.

Wartortle forced his expression into a smile. “I thought you didn't like water, but you're getting it all over your face.”

Quil shook with a wet chuckle, and fresh tears welled from his eyes. When he spoke, Wartortle could barely understand the words in his friend's shaking voice.

“I'm so glad I got to know you, Wartortle. I'm so, so lucky that you were my friend. I've never met anyone like you. You're--” A powerful shudder went through his body, rippling into his fires. “You're irreplaceable, Wartortle.”

He squeezed Quil's shoulder, letting fresh tears of his own run down both cheeks. “I feel the same way, Quil.”

After memorizing the feel of the warm fur beneath his hand, Wartortle finally drew away. He took a couple of steps back. Quil followed after him with one wobbly step.

“Don't leave me alone, Wartortle.”

Wartortle swallowed the lump in his throat and took an unsteady breath. With the back of one hand, he wiped the tears from his face.

“Quil...even after I leave, even fifty years from now...” He forced himself to take another step away from Quil.

Quil's hind legs finally gave out, and he fell down to his belly. He peered up at Wartortle through wet eyes. “Don't say goodbye, Wartortle.”

“I'll never forget you, Quil. Never.”

He walked away from his friend, toward the middle helicopter-like transport ship that would take him to Castelia City and his old life. The rear door was still lowered down like a ramp, beckoning him into the dark interior. He could feel the dismayed confusion of the Resistance Pokémon at his back as he followed Kathleen into the back of the ship. The aircraft rotors whirred to life. The ship lifted off the ice of the plateau and began moving outward to the sea. Wartortle turned, just inside the ramp's threshold, to get one last look at the place where it had all ended.

He tried to take a final glimpse to the west, to see the smoke plume above Iyrodenin. Even more, he tried to focus on the Resistance, so he could later recall the way their noble spirits matched the tall, majestic peaks of the icy mountains behind them. He tried especially hard to find certain familiar faces among the crowd, so he could have one last image of them to fix in his memory.

But all he could see was the Quilava, alone at the edge, and crying out his name.

As the ramp raised upward, obstructing his view of the plateau, Wartortle whispered his farewell to the most precious part of his life as a Pokémon.

“Goodbye, Quil.”

THE END


	47. Author's Note

First of all: Do NOT read this until you have absolutely finished reading the entire story. There will be major spoilers! Don't ruin it for yourself! Please!!!

That being said...

That's it. That's the end. They never see each other again. You won't find a happy version of the ending anywhere. This is how I wanted the story to end when I envisioned it somewhere in late 2013 or early 2014. (It's the last day of February 2016 as I write this; a leap day!) I'm a sucker for sad endings. This story is a PMD fan-fiction, so it had to end this way. Although this time, there's no post-game content or scene after the credits manufactured to reverse the tragedy of parting. From an emotional and narrative perspective, I usually hated in the games how you and your partner overcome destiny, or history, or time and space, through oft-bogus reasoning in order to go on adventures together again. There's no beauty in a soul-crushing ending when, after some hand-waving, it's turned into a happy one.

Anyway, I wanted to make an Author's Note to thank certain people and to share some information about this story's behind-the-scenes that I think might increase the enjoyment of it by you, the reader. At times, I was very tempted to put some of this info in footnotes at the end of chapters, like many fan-fiction stories do, but I decided not to break 'story voice' until it was all over. I'm so happy to finally write this note!

 

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my friends Saiga, Fwargler, Hikari Aiko, sodamoeba, and jester62391 for being there to answer seemingly random (but always secretly writing or story related) questions I wanted to bounce off someone else. Thank you to Halcyonbeing, for being my consulting Pokémon expert. I actually have fairly limited experience with the main line of games, so you were invaluable in solving certain problems I faced to make this story consistent with the Pokémon universe and all its complexities.

Thanks to ReaDulcetta for bringing a climactic moment of my story to life with your art. It's so strange being able to see the characters visually represented in a place outside of my mind. (Even though they look like any other Cyndaquil and Squirtle, haha.) Look at Quil's cute face! Look at it!

Thank you to the people behind Bulbapedia. I used this website an absurd amount, it's ridiculous. At the end of a writing session, I would often have ten tabs of Bulbapedia open on my browser that I'd used for reference. What a fantastic resource!

Big thanks to LionsMane10 and later, Zion of Arcadia for their reviews of my chapters. As I write this, the story is only posted up to Chapter 33, so other incredible reviews may come later on, but you two awesome people are currently above and beyond. It embarrasses me to admit it, but I grew desperately dependent on seeing your reviews pop up. I used to refresh my email multiple times a day to see if one of you had posted one on my latest chapter. Thank you both so much for taking the time to share your detailed thoughts on the chapter. Noting typos, analyzing the content of the chapter, providing encouragement but also not pulling punches – it meant so much to me, each and every time. It really did. I would always read each review multiple times, making changes in what I'd posted or writing down notes to think about as I went forward. I intend to re-upload every chapter, many with minor changes, after the complete first draft is uploaded. Many of those second draft modifications are because of you two. Thank you so much.

And, thank you very much to everyone else who posted reviews. Ralmon, OblivionWings, and others, I do not intend to belittle how much your reviews meant to me as well. Thank you so much for taking the time to post your thoughts on the latest chapter instead of moving on with your life after reading.

Obviously, big thanks to everyone behind the creation of Pokémon Mystery Dungeon as a series. Though I doubt any of you will ever read this, thank you so much for creating these games. They will never be fantastic games worthy of perfect ratings, but they are beautiful experiences nonetheless. These games made me reevaluate what makes a good game. And, silly as it sounds, they made me change the kind of person I wanted to be.

Thank you to ScytheRider, for writing the best and most inspiring fan-fiction I have ever read. Among PMD fan-fiction, I think it's safe to say that your work reigns supreme. I have read a ton of PMD fan-fiction, and I believe I succeeded in hitting all of the high-quality ones. While I think certain writing elements are done better in some other stories than in Silver Resistance, your work is the overall best in my humble opinion. In so many ways. Until I read SR, I had no idea that fan-fiction could be so good. SR brought me into fan-fiction with a bang. I love it so much, and it's not even complete yet! As of writing this, it's only uploaded up to Chapter 64. If, reader, you like PMD fan-fiction but have not yet read ScytheRider's work, I advise you to do yourself a favor and treat yourself.

And, of course, thank YOU so much, reader. Whoever you are. Whether you were mentioned above, or if you read the story without leaving a trace of your existence. I used to think it was corny and unnecessary when authors thanked the reader. I see now just how important it is to me that I have readers, few as they are. Being able to share this story and knowing that it will be read (and possibly enjoyed!) by others down the line is an indescribable feeling.

 

The Making Of Power Trip

I decided I wanted to write a Pokémon Mystery Dungeon fan-fiction in 2013, for a combination of three reasons. First, I'd been wanting an opportunity to flex my creative writing muscles for a while. In college I took a couple of classes on the craft of creative writing. I'd written some short stories, some essays, but nothing note-worthy. Nothing long or, dare I say, epic. I wanted to see what writing a novel-length story was like. (Though I never expected it to be 264,000 words long!) I wanted to see if I had what it takes, if I could write a decent story. I wanted to face the trials and tribulations that real authors face, to grow as a person and a writer. As a result, I have a bulleted list of things that I learned about writing and myself along the way.

Second, I was exploding with love for PMD at the time. Looking at the release date chronology, I'd probably recently finished Gates to Infinity after already having played Explorers and Rescue Team. I wanted to share my love of those stories. Fan-fiction seemed like a good way to do so.

Third, I had recently read up to the latest chapter in Silver Resistance. I was in awe and disbelief that a fan-fiction could be so good. That this story I was reading for free on the internet by some guy with a picture of a Scyther as his profile image was something I enjoyed more than almost all of the two hundred fifty or so published and thus 'legitimate' novels I'd read. I was overflowing with inspiration and love for his story. Thus, I decided I needed to give back to the community. I remember that feeling well. I wanted to write not to prove myself, or to get my name out there for future endeavors, but to give back. I felt like I had reaped so much enjoyment from ScytheRider's and other works, that I was required to do my best to give back as best as I could. Writing a story of my own was the best way I could do that. (Even though I doubted I could ever reach ScytheRider's level.) In fact, in the digital document that holds all the writing, outlining, and pre-writing I did, the very first section is a paragraph entitled 'Things that I love about Silver Resistance'. (I also have a lesser section with bits and pieces from about 10 other PMD fan-fictions that I either hated and wanted to avoid mimicking, or that I liked and wanted to include in my own way, such as the trash-talking before a fight in Chapter 5 of LionsMane10's Variations.)

I'll go ahead and write here a select few of those things I learned along the way that are amusing or insightful to read.  
\- It's hard to write characters that aren't like you! I always wanted Squirtle and Quil to say what I would say, what I believe to be the thing to say. But they are different. Squirtle is withdrawn and cold (initially); he wouldn't be sympathetic. Quil wouldn't burst out in anger and say what he is justified in saying (initially), he would keep it inside. But I guess these differences and opinions and personalities they have is nectar to the audience.  
\- I always have way more content to write than what's planned in my outline. Waking up in shell? Yeah, that involves a whole ordeal of introspection, stretching, and more. Approaching Chando? Yeah, that's 1000 words of suspense and scenery description. Talk about Quil not needing Iyrodenin to evolve? Enjoy this necessary lapse in friendship as Quil comes to terms with Squirtle's human/trainer effects.  
\- I could have written much more content, perhaps doubling the length of the story, between the Karprest mission and the beginning of the hunt for the source of the boost(s). Could have slowly added teams to the effort. Had auditions, more characters, each teaching Squirtle and Quil something new about themselves or the organization. Had different sorts of missions like night missions, time pressure missions and being delayed by wilds, missions that caused character arcs in fantastical locations. Missions that would make Squirtle and Quil grow in various ways, and require interesting strategies and teamwork. Missions to fight off evil cohort(s) of Electrics that hate Squirtle's guild. Could have developed the team base and Cavetown more, such as with a carrier service's development, dojo, shop, etc. Made a big ordeal of gathering information and pursuing leads to figure out the source of the boost(s). In other words, I could have lengthened the phase of transformation from team to guild. But as I write this, when they're leaving Cavetown soon to deal with Stolt, I find myself almost getting burnt out at how much I could write. It's daunting. Plus, deadlines. I don't want to be writing this PMD fan-fiction for another year, even though that may be how long it takes me to write a story series that does the world and its characters justice. No, I need to end this, even though my story won't be in its ideal state. Sometimes, the artist must move on even when the work is imperfect. (Ha, kinda pretentious there.)  
\- Could have really further developed the chapters on fear in Weird Wood. I could work on slowly and realistically building up the fear like a horror story. Horror elements, Bein gets lost at one point, Squirtle can't climb high enough to orient himself, he's lost the path, oh snap! Slowly encounters signs of ghosts, finally has to fight one, his Tackle isn't working, oh God so scary. Finally conquers them, or conquers them in order to save a terrified Quil who had possibly fallen into a water trench, a better impetus for Squirtle to evolve.  
\- Occasionally difficult to manufacture a sense of dramatic tension when death, for the most part, is impossible. Have to resort to less intense measures like being trapped in one place, falling unconscious, or experiencing some pain. Not too big an issue though. And it's a nice change according to one review?

The rest of this section will be a bunch of unconnected facts about the writing of this story.

I'm a huge fan of video game music, and the music of PMD is particularly dear to my heart. I once read another fan-fiction, not PMD, that had bolded music track names a few times in each chapter. (Found it: Pokémon Chronicles – A Hero's Rebirth by Eric566.) They were from video games. The author's intent was for the reader to find the song on YouTube and listen to it while reading the chapter to get the perfect mood that the author had intended. While I really liked that, I decided that it did not belong in a serious, self-respecting work. Though I was tempted. I would probably have used music exclusively from the PMD series. I would have used Sympathy and Sincerity for one of the times Squirtle and Quil had a heart-to-heart, Mt. Blaze for climbing Iyrodenin, Defy the Legends and other fantastic boss themes for the big battles. Agh, it would have been awesome. Didn't stop me from sometimes listening to those songs while writing those sections, haha.

I never used the names of animals or insects, not 'canine' or 'turtle', or even 'sheepish'. If I did, it's a typo, a lapse of consistency. I never said 'animalistic', or ever referred to any possible creatures in the universe but humans and Pokémon. This is because in this universe, there are no animals. So those words would not have arisen. Why would Squirtle think Viper looks like a snake when there are no snakes in either his old or new life? Limiting myself was especially difficult because I love animals and animalistic comparisons! One part in particular that this restriction was bothersome was when I couldn't say birds for 'Flyers', outside of the official title of Legendary Birds. I even refrained from saying Bird, as I wanted 'Legendary Birds' to be a cohesive, complete title that was not merely birds that were Legendary. Perhaps a silly restriction, but I'm happy I did it. (I know I should refer to Squirtle as Brayden, but he'll always be Squirtle to me.)

I tried very hard to make Pokémon other than Squirtle not use common idioms and expressions, not even short phrases like 'turning point' or 'lesser of two evils'. If they do, it's a fairly literal or emergent expression, like 'by the way', or 'see your point'. I used that as a tool to make Squirtle's manner of speaking seem foreign. To make him more human, an outsider. Doing this was really hard, because as I found out while writing, I love making characters say expressions. I may have given characters more leeway to use idioms and such than I would have preferred when I set myself on that path.

I never used the word 'human' until Squirtle brought it up in that Prison conversation.

I also never talked about Squirtle/Wartortle's teeth. I kept it intentionally vague whether or not he had any. Turtles don't, but it's shown in the anime sometimes that both Pokémon species do. I was conflicted. I wanted badly at times to have him grit, grind, or clench his teeth, but I only ever mentioned his two protruding fangs after he'd evolved.

Every Pokémon learned moves as they would have through leveling up in the X and Y generation of main games. (The newest games when I began writing in earnest.) All in the right order, all at the appropriate levels, unless that Pokémon held themselves back on evolving or was some strange exception. Evolution occurred at the right level, too, as we saw in Squirtle and Quil.

The wilderness-dwelling Pokémon that Squirtle and Quil meet are in the habitat they belong in. Except to some degree in towns, due to refugees and diversity and such.

Some game conventions are thrown out though, like orbs, the difference between Legendary and Mythical Pokémon, most Abilities (because, among many narrative-related reasons, it would feel lame if Quil used Flash Fire against Moltres or the characters cheated like that at any other point), and others that didn't make sense or appeal to me. I buffed the power of wearable items like Special Band in my story, because let's face it, items like Special Band suck in the games. By the way, the scarves and cloths have their looks taken from the images used in the games, then the special anime episodes, when available.

Everyone in Squirtle's party had increased level up rate when they traveled and fought with him, but I couldn't show it other than in subtle moments like Bein learning Bonemerang, since he wasn't hanging out with them long enough to cause early evolution like with Quil. Also, somewhat frustratingly, Cyndaquil evolve quite early since they're starters, which detracts from the unnatural progression I was going for.

Chando's weird personality is based off the Video Game Music Choir's adaptation of the Zero-Two battle theme from the video game Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards, found on YouTube. Oddly enough. And many of his lines of dialogue are based off their lyrics, as well as lyrics from a certain video game music rock band about Mega Man.

Almost every element of every character arc was planned from the get-go. Bein's came out a bit forced, but I never had the opportunity to work on his as much as I would have liked in the chapters. Same for Quil. I never got the chance to show his naive, overly trusting, and attaching nature getting him into trouble as much as I wanted. Never got to show him learning 'street smarts'. Though I think his transformation into an inspiring force of positivity and determination, much like a certain character from Silver Resistance, went pretty well. That was one element of his arc I really wanted to nail.

When I wrote the scene of them emerging out of Cavetown into bright light before the Blindhollow mission, I realized in a heart-sinking moment that I was being racist by making jokes about Quil's scrunched-up eyes. I'd been talking with a friend about how Cyndaquil have their eyes permanently shut or squinting like people of Asian descent. I never made the comparison between the two when writing; that had never been my intention. I hope my recurring joke about Quil not being able to see isn't interpreted as a jab at Asians, haha.

I used a map! But, uh...it probably shouldn't see the light of day. It would cheapen the higher-quality writing, I think. Know that I paid an aggravating level of detail to spatial awareness. Everything is a set physical distance from everything else. The time it takes Pokémon to move between places matches the distance they have to move, how many battles slow them down, whether or not they are in a rush, if they're riding on Hayzin and Viper, etc. The map went through many updates and revisions, and I referenced it often whenever issues of direction and timing came up.

I would release a chapter when I had five to ten already written ahead of it. That gap increased later in the story. I wanted to give myself breathing room to correct errors and tweak the story a bit using feedback without the hassle of having to frequently reupload chapters. As I write this, only up to Chapter 33 is uploaded. And like I alluded to earlier, I plan to reupload every chapter in the story with all the tweaks and changes inspired by the feedback I received from reviews and personal rereads. The story in its final state should be uploaded by May 2016.  
(Edit 4/30/16: the version currently uploaded is the second draft – the story's final state)

I took particular care with chapter names. They always have at least two meanings. For example, the first chapter is named Bolt because: the Electric boost storm occurs in it, lots of lightning strikes are coming down, Squirtle and Quil and everyone else are running around like mad ('bolting'), and because Squirtle becomes Paralyzed. Sometimes I struggled, and a chapter name is only barely a double meaning. But for many of my chapters, I'm quite proud of their cleverness. Like how the chapter Seed focuses on the Totter Seed being used for Raizula's toll, but also contains the conversation between Squirtle and Quil that is the seed of the future Resistance! I also often struggled with chapter names for other reasons: eliminating possible spoilers for readers scanning the chapter list, trying to pick between multiple good names, or because no events in the chapter were significant enough to be referenced by the chapter title. For example, I almost named the last two chapters Light, and Quil or Partner. But I didn't want to spoil that the last chapter would be about Quil, as that would make inquisitive readers think that we'd be seeing the departure of Quil one way or another. Spoilers!

The title of 'Power Trip' matches the story because: a) most of the story sees electricity reigning supreme since it's boosted first, b) it's a story about traveling and getting more powerful (a power trip! haha), c) most antagonists feel they can do whatever they want because of their power, which is a a power trip in the idiomatic sense of the phrase, especially the primary villain Victini who sets all the events of the plot into motion simply because of his power trip, d) Squirtle himself slowly becomes more confident with his intelligence, battling, leadership, and ability to get things done, which peaks at Chapter 28 and is subdued in Chapter 30 after Stolt's tour; that's Squirtle's power trip, e) Quil goes on a little power trip during the Fire boost

First half of Chapter 35, the solo journey through the mountains, does not use the name Wartortle until Quil uses it, in the hopes of mimicking the isolation and lack of talking that he experienced until he was reunited with his friend.

I really wanted to include the personality test when I started this work. A mainstay of the PMD games. When it made no sense to put it at the beginning, I thought I'd put it later, mimicking a major set of flashbacks during a critical moment near the end of a fantastic Legend of Zelda fan-fiction by Rose Zemlya. But that never worked either. Mostly because a personality test never occurred for Squirtle, haha. It was all an accident. Thus I was sad when I realized I couldn't put it. It would have been a fun challenge to write.

I almost wrote a second version of the ending, in which Wartortle is the one breaks down and loses it, while Quil puts on a strong face for the sake of his friend. I thought that subversion of expectation and role reversal would make the moment stand out, and be even more sad. It would highlight Quil's growth, too. However, the reasons in favor of writing it how I did were too strong to overrule.

Whew! Hopefully some of those fun facts were interesting, and shed some light on the way I wrote the story! If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to PM me, even if this story is fifty years old by the time you read this. I imagine I'll still read and reply; I'd absolutely love to talk about my story. Even if you're messaging me just to bash the way I did something, or to tell me how I totally messed up by being inconsistent about something. The best lessons are harsh ones.

 

References

I may miss some, but here are all of the nods/allusions/references to the PMD games and special anime episodes I can remember that I included in my story:

\- Obviously, the whole premise of PMD. This is fan-fiction after all. Amnesic human, talking Pokémon, partner, grand adventure involving Legendaries, save the world, parting. You get the picture.  
\- “Let's go together!” (one of the AI tactics options in-game)  
\- Bein's comment about the team not having a team badge  
\- “Those bubbles sure are pretty!” and “Being a Pokémon isn't half bad!” (Rescue Team episode)  
\- The bank, the costs of items, the items themselves of course  
\- Having a Team Base  
\- Request Board  
\- The three Legendary Birds being found on mountains  
\- Numerous small teams being part of a larger organization of helpful Pokémon  
\- Team Poképals  
\- “Today let's do our best, as always.” (Explorers post-game phrase said every morning by the partner)  
\- Item use and condition-inflicting moves often being required to win boss fights  
\- Don't shirk work, run away and pay (Explorers commandments in Wigglytuff's Guild)  
\- Defy the Legends (Explorers song title)  
\- Some of what Quil and Squirtle say in the moment of parting

There are references to other fan-fiction, most notably Silver Resistance. Those whose work I nodded to, hope you get a kick out of the references I made a point of slipping in, haha.

 

What's Next for Talgoran

No more writing, I can say that. I'm off to Physician Assistant graduate school, which will be a suffocating amount of work. From there, my life is unpredictable, but it will certainly be very busy for a time. I have no plans to write anything in the coming years. My main original intent in writing this story was to give back to the PMD fan community, and it brings me immense relief to have made a worthy contribution. That chapter is closed now.

Maybe in the future I'll write another PMD-related story, but I very much doubt it. If anything, I'll write an original story in the fantasy genre. More than likely I'll move onto other pursuits. The name Talgoran can be found in many places on the internet, as I like to try my hand at everything I suppose.

 

Closing

It's been a long journey, far longer than that of Squirtle and Quil. I know now that I'm a very slow writer. I feel both lightened and weighed down by seeing it all end. I never thought seeing my own characters say goodbye would make me cry. Stories are magical like that I guess.

Again, thank you very much for reading my story. And again, I very, very much appreciate every review or message I receive. I'd love to chat about it, or to read and review your story (if you're an author) since you read mine. Please share my story if you enjoyed it and know someone else who might as well. And if you're ever looking for advice on how to live your life, you don't need to look farther than the words the partner says every morning in the post-game of Pokémon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Time/Darkness/Sky.

Today let's do our best, as always!


End file.
